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There she stood, at the corner of Park Avenue, watching the hustle and bustle of New York City. It is really happening, she thought. I am really on my way to England. For years, Nicole had dreamed of traveling to the beautiful green hills of England. Then, for her twenty-first birthday, Nicole’s parents presented her with an all expenses paid vacation to Newcastle. Nicole seemed to have become interested in Medieval England in her sophomore year of college. Every class that related to medieval western society available, she took with delight. With a year left of college, Nicole had been surprised at the enormity of this gift. Not that her family was needy, they had just never had enough money to splurge on very extravagant vacations and such. Her family was simple and loving. Even through the hard times, Nicole’s parents always found the resources to get Nicole something special on the holidays. With a couple of hours to kill before her connecting flight to England, Nicole wandered the city, before heading back to the airport. Her flight left on time, with no major incidents. After sitting in her seat, Nicole prepared to sleep through the near 12-hour flight. When Nicole awoke, the plane was beginning it’s decent to the airport. After landing, Nicole rushed to get her bags from the carousel and hailed a taxi to take her to the hotel in Newcastle, a couple of hours away. Throughout the ride, Nicole’s nose was pressed to the glass of the window, taking in the sights of the lands, architecture and cities or villages surrounding her. Nicole checked into the hotel and walked down the street to a small pub and restaurant for dinner. The Ol’ Tavern was a small room with about 3 tables for four people and a bar. It was near empty except for an old man at the bar, the bartender who was also about seventy years old and a waitress/cook. Nicole seated herself at the corner table near a big yet simple fireplace. The old men were deep into some conversation, enthusiastically waving their hands and raising their voices every so often. The waitress approached Nicole with a small laminated paper, the menu. “Hullo, dear. Welcome to the Ol’ Tavern. We don’t see many young faces here. `’Tis a shame, all the same, but we do enjoy our company. My name’s Maude. That there is Frank, my husband, and his companion, Ted. Can I get you an ale?” Maude almost purred her whole speech. Her voice was soft and had a lilt from living near the border of Scotland. She was older, much older than Nicole had first suspected by about 30 or 40 years. Even with her age and laugh wrinkles, Maude looked as young as about 35 or so. The years obviously were not as kind to Maude’s husband Frank for the poor man was bent with age, wrinkled and frail looking.
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