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in her grief, there too was strength.
chantale cried out indignantly.
thibault folded close.
tousaint moved away.
miette yawned.
and val, outside her door, buoyed mireille more than any language would be able to convey.
her weeping would not end soon; but it became silent, and in the french of erzulie did the obsidian began to sing again, kissing each of the quartet in turn and thinking fiercely upon the last memories of rosalyn she would possess.