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She stepped into the spotlight like a butterfly released from its cocoon. Her dyed hair burnt like a flame, her eyes remained theatrically downcast as the music built to its crescendo.
I knew something memorable was imminent.
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Alma Tucker settled into middle age with the comfort that escapes most women. Her festival queen days gone. Along with her wispy waist and cherry blond hair, replaced by broader curves and graying tresses. She was content with the way age had changed her
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