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It is a dead calm June morning with the tide just high. Only the willet's cry breaks the peaceful spell cast by such a breathless day. On Lucius's marsh, a large doe stands in the belly-high Spartina. She is an extremely long animal, majestic in her red summer coat, which glistens in the sun, every muscle shining and taut as a thoroughbred, finely tuned and ready to run. Then I spy through the lattice of high tops another brown shape, a fawn bounding behind its mother. When the fawn stops, I can see only its tiny tail twitching above the grass tops.