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The loon´s cries outside were sharp, and for her. The reeds rubbed against each other and sang her a song. Lapped in his fur, she was wrapped in a basket and caressed by little waves. The breath of kind beasts was upon her. She felt pain, but it was a dear, sweet pain belonged not so mental suffering, but to the earth. She smelled moss and clean northern flowers. (Bear, Chap. XXII, p. 117).
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