“Here we are,” he said, “shining through each other like light through a stained-glass window. I pity her from the bottom of my heart. Fritz sang for her sometimes, for Fritz could sing even before he was able to form words. He continued thoughtfully. Sepulchre's. At least I rather hoped I might spend my time chasing smugglers, which would have afforded some excitement. The path he had selected conducted him to his mother's humble dwelling.
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