For the second time in two days Clara lit the sage and sweetgrass. She gently pushed the fragrant smoke toward the intense artist, smoothing it over the woman’s head and down her body. Releasing, Clara explained, any negative thoughts, any bad energy. Then it was Gamache’s turn. She looked at him. His expression was slightly bemused, but mostly relaxed, attentive. She moved the smoke over him, until it hung like a sweet cloud around him and then dissipated in the breeze. “All the negative energy taken away,” said Clara, doing it to herself. “Gone.” If only, they all quietly thought, it was
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