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Anne Boleyn (Cont.)

Hands clasped decorously at he stomach Anne walked out of her small room, head held high. No tears filled her eyes.There was nothing that could stop this. Henry….no, the King would not be attending she’d been told. Off hunting or fondling Mistress Seymour she presumed.

Her eyes focused, not on the crowds surrounding her, but on the wooden scaffold some twenty feet ahead of her. Her ears were deaf to the words of the people. Whether they condemned her or regretted what was coming to pass she didn’t know. Most probably the former, she thought.

Before she knew it she was on the scaffold delivering her speech and clutching the edge. Her mind was a blur as she delivered what had taken her hours to prepare. It was time.

She knelt down, her eyes closed, face lifted towards heaven.
As the executioner swung, she thought of Elizabeth.

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