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Pressed against her I can hear eternity-- hollow, lonely spaces and currents that churn ceaselessly, and the fallen snow welcomes the falling snow with a whispered "hush."

I kept running my hand through her hair-- through Raina's hair-- I couldn't help it. It lulled her back to sleep.

"My father once nearly came to blows with a female dinner guest about whether a particular patch of embroidery was fuchsia or magenta. But the infinite gradations of color in a fine sunset--from salmon to canary to midnight blue--left him wordless."