At some point, even the greatest misery begins to fade. Life, or what passes for life, plods on in it's own unending weary footsteps, and somehow we plod along with it, if we stay lucky.
It thanked her for the life she breathed into hits being; without her influence, this little being would not have been in the Garden of Glory.
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It thanked her for the life she breathed into hits being; without her influence, this little being would not have been in the Garden of Glory.
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