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“Grass had grown on my child's grave in the far north. I'd lain on top of it every night for months, in vain hopes of keeping her warm. It was so cold, and she so small, lost to me forever.” — Yangsze Choo
Grass had grown on my child's grave in the far north. I'd lain on top of it every night for months, in vain hopes of keeping her warm. It was so cold, and she so small, lost to me forever.