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“Perhaps,” she said, voice barely a whisper, “but I don’t believe that makes death any less cruel.” “And why do you say that?” She folded her hands upon her lap, trying not to let the bitterness creep into her voice. “Because death is only a reprieve for the dead, Mr. Thorly. It cares little for those it leaves behind.”
She’d spent years watching everyone she knew become ghosts—even those who were still living.