“Come,” he said, “you can’t be meaning to bury yourself. She was perhaps as near tears as ever before in her life. She was with these movements—akin to them, she felt it at times intensely—and yet something eluded her. Her mother was a goddess to her all through her youth, the mysterious ruler of all things beautiful and wonderful and lunar, her eyes that glinted spectral blue, as if she had the knowledge and the magic to raise the very dead. It was not for a week or a month.
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