He is half of my soul, as the poets say.
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Madeline Miller
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Above us, the constellations spun and the moon paced her weary course. We lay stricken and sleepless as the hours passed.

By Madeline Miller

He showed me his scars, and in return he let me pretend that I had none.

By Madeline Miller

When he died, all things soft and beautiful and bright would be buried with him.

By Madeline Miller

Name one hero who was happy."

By Madeline Miller
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