The rain came, and the people ran for their houses or some other nearby shelter. All but one. She stayed, dancing in the rain, not minding when she slipped and fell in a puddle and soaked the hem of her dress. For soon she was completely soaked. People watched her out their windows, wondering about this girl who danced so lightly in the rain, and wondered where her mother was. But her mother, too, was watching out her window, not daring to get her own dress wet, for it had belonged to her dear departed great-aunt. She would not even go to the window to call her daughter inside, for the opening of the window would send small droplets of water to fall on the doily she had carefully placed on the window sill, with all of the lovely crocheted and starched treasures she had labored many hours over when she was newly married. She could not move them, for they could never be placed so perfectly again, and could not open the window, for they would be ruined. And so the girl her daughter danced in the rain, unknowing of the many sets of eyes that watched, and after the rain stopped and someone ventured outside to ask her what she had been doing, she said, "Dancing."
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