In the darkness, a faint blue flashed past.

It was a little mockingbird flying by. It stopped on a big dark tree, with eyes as small as beans, staring at a house not far away.

It was a three-story house, well known to the neighbors, where the beloved Dickinson siblings lived.

The robin was perceiving something with its keen intuition, and then, fluttering its small wings, it flew into the half-open window on the third floor.

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