Her mother was a goddess to her all through her youth, the mysterious ruler of all things beautiful and wonderful and lunar, her eyes that glinted spectral blue, as if she had the knowledge and the magic to raise the very dead. Her head was downcast as she studied the museum-like exhibits of various dusts on the resilient tile flooring. "Where are you going?" cried Thames, who, though wholly disencumbered, was scarcely able to keep up with him.
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