“When one is happy—I don’t like to think of them. But perhaps you don't know; there was nothing in the pockets. Taking her limbs was the only thing I could do short of killing her. He took into his soul some of the father's misery, some of the daughter's, to mingle with his own. 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.
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