Without the clamor, she suddenly felt as if marooned on a desolate island, silence engulfing her ears.
The villa was situated in a very secluded location, and in the absence of conversation, tranquility reigned.
Joan Harry lay on the pillow, her crying intermittent.
She was like a helpless fawn, alone in the vast living room, unsure of where to go.
The air was serene, bathed in warm sunlight.
Sounds of the fountain and bird calls were faintly discernible outside.
Jesse Rowan finally stopped coming over, and Joan, worn out from crying, slumped onto a cushion and drifted into a drowsy sleep.
These past few days, she had not had a single peaceful night's sleep.
Perhaps due to sheer exhaustion, she soon fell into a deep slumber.
She dreamed.
The dream was of joyful times; growing up, she truly had never suffered the slightest hardship.
In fact, she had never even faced setbacks.
Maybe things had been too smooth for her, which is why something like this had happened.
