A picture paints ... well, as many words as you like. For instance: And, then, the words: It was a secret I had promised to take to the grave, and now, that time looked as though it was upon me. Old age and a failing heart had left me in a situation where my final days were playing out in a convalescent home. At least it was surrounded by parkland and sunshine, far more, it seemed, that one could expect in this part of England. Except for today, it was overcast with a hint of rain, foreboding perhaps? I was out in the gardens, on my favorite seat, neat the roses. On a sunny day when the flowers were out, it was quite picturesque. Today, in the gloomy outlook, the last of the flower petals had withered and fallen to the ground, it felt like they too were on their last legs It was, I mused, the cycle of life. My replacement, I knew, was Amelia, one of three granddaughters and two grandsons. She, of all of them, at 18, had more of a sense of adventure in her that the others
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