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“When you look for the bad in mankind expecting to find it, you surely will.”
Though my novel is Civil War based, my goal was not to write about slavery, or stress the coincidental love story. I wanted to write a story about a girl who grew up when everything from fashion to politics changed. Because this is my senior thesis, I have citations throughout, which hopefully will not impose on your reading pleasure. I am glad to put my name as Catching the Rose’s author, and I hope you enjoy.
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As the morning sun ascended slumbering Richmond, a small bird crooned. Its song echoed in the winding, empty streets and alleys to land in the ears of a dog who sleepily snarled. Waiting for employment, the horse whickered at the dog, which yipped in reply. The horse shook his head from a persisting fly, which sailed from the threat and chanced upon an appealing rose.
It was on this solitary morning that a rose petal fell. It is not known whether the petal happened to be dropped by a hand, or whether it fell by the properties of gravity. But it is safe to say it began this story.
As the town began the morning regimen, windows awoke to the new day. The sun glided across a brown brick house, highlighting wear and tear. “Mrs. Beaumont’s,” the gold-plated plaque beside the large door read. The house was tall and wide, a mixture of town house and country mansion. The bay window, situated in what one might assume belonged to the parlor, energetically flung open its curtains.