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Charles de Lint

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They stood and listened, arms around each other for comfort, as the sound washed over them. It reverberated in the marrow of their bones, sung high and sweet, heartbreakingly mournful, quick as a jig, slow as the saddest air. Their hearts swelled with its beauty, its mystery. With all it revealed, and all that it hid.
--
Part Two: The Lost Music, "The Touchstone" p. 507

 
Charles de Lint

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