There had been so many nights in Berlin that she had danced, and laughed and loved, where she’d drunk too much champagne and worn expensive silk dresses and went on bicycle rides on the first day of spring simply to collect tulips in her basket. She had believed in the basic goodness of people, that most were just trying to do their best in a world that could sometimes be hard. She had been open and kind and sarcastic, a good friend and a good sister. Not necessarily a good daughter, but she didn’t blame herself for that. She had loved bread and orange marmalade and a night at the theater, and
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