Listen to your mother's prayers, and do not let her die brokenhearted. Grace, confidence, the power of movement even, seemed gone from her. ” “I shall always be grateful to you,” he declared. She turned there, clasped her hands behind her back and put up her chin. She could feel her body rebel against her actions, convulsing, so she forced herself to think of her mother in Heaven, her mother's beautiful face, the sun dancing across the rivers of her home. “Do you like my dress?” “Yes, the dress is beautiful, but you are much more beautiful than any dress.
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