“You know, rightfully, we should leave this here. That’s a good lesson, isn’t it? At Singing Hills, we deal in memory. The things we remember last as long as we do and longer. The thing itself, well, it goes away. It breaks. It sinks to the bottom of the river. It dies or leaves or is lost.” Then they handed it to me, telling me to put it in my bag and keep it very well, because it was precious.
