‘Come, cry a truce. She was surprised to find how stored her mind was with impressions and memories of him, how vividly she remembered his gestures and little things that he had said. ‘But tell me this instead. She was breathing hard, dragging for air, half in fright and half because the sudden effort had used up what little air she had managed to draw so briefly. He had studied alchemy and astronomy, was a capable painter, and even wrote music. After quarter of an hour, she followed.
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