Amy Harris

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All of these dynamics created a sense, of what I cannot say. But there was a prick on the back of my neck, like a whisper of some golden age. It seems foolish to write now. But there was one moment when the food had been cleared away and we fell silent, all of us glancing about the table. I think more than just myself could sense something  was in the making. We just couldn’t understand what.
The Unselected Journals of Emma M. Lion: Vol. 4
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