Rachel Kadish

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Her long-ago studies were mere shadows - she could not recall what had made her think them worthy. Here and again, as she lay in the dark, a thought might rise murky out of the fatigue, and - she couldn't help herself - she'd hold it tender as a newborn lest it slip from her hands, caressing it, trying to shield it against oblivion. Until finally it slipped, a spark extinguished by sleep.

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