She had very few clear memories before a particular day in the library, when they had finished one of her first reading lessons. She had even confided to him how lonely it was in the island. She could feel her body rebel against her actions, convulsing, so she forced herself to think of her mother in Heaven, her mother's beautiful face, the sun dancing across the rivers of her home. When I think of it—” “But these are things I want to tell you now!” “I made a little song of it. ” He sidled toward her, but she recoiled from him, leaving him in possession of the hearth-rug.
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