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She was vehemently impatient—she did not clearly know for what—to do, to be, to experience. 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. “My Mom never gets a good night’s sleep. ” “I don’t believe it,” he answered hoarsely.
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