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Through the stained glass windows the daylight burst in, sending sparkling shafts of light into the church. Yet the little ghost remained. Barely visible, yes, but to all who were still adjusting their eyes to the contrast of darkness and brightness inside, it was plainly there. It was a little girl ghost dressed in a thread-bare shift that came down to her knees and was tied loosely at the waist. She wore black boots and white socks, neatly cuffed at the ankles. She held her face tautly, as if afraid to speak or scream or curse, whatever little girl ghosts are wont to do on a Sunday in the middle of the coldest winter anyone could remember.

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