Martha K

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He lay in his bed and thought of her blue eyes and the delicate features of her face, but they were always veiled by falling snow or covered in the fall of her blond hair, and he could not re-create them clearly in his mind. He tried to remember the shape of her lips. He wondered what it would be like to touch them. And more than anything, he wanted to remember her scent, vague and so familiar.
The Snow Child
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