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A misfit. It's what she is. How could she had been so presumptuous thinking she could walk among them?
Her head is aching. People using words she doesn't understand comment on her work. She is a non entity, the new comer trying to break through.
She looks around for a friendly face. Finds none. Tonight she'll destroy her paintings. It was a stupid idea. A failure
Later, a forlorn silhouette can be seen at the Art Gallery. She looks at her dreams, going up in flames. When the police arrives, she follows, the box of matches still in her hand.

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