The last time she opened her eyes was in the afternoon. She looked at me, and when she saw that I was weeping silently she seemed troubled, as if she blamed herself. And she squeezed my hand again, and then she closed her eyes once more. I could almost feel her thoughts racing through space and time, looking for one last treasure, one last beautiful moment she could hold on to. Perhaps she thought of the children and me, or of her sister and her parents, the past and the future. One last great explosion of thoughts and feelings, tangled fear and trust, and already it was flying away with her,
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