"She had become accustomed to being lonely. She was used to walking alone and to being considered 'different.' She did not suffer too much."

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If a man does not die of a wound, then it heals in some fashion, and so it is with loss. From the sharp pain of immediate berevement, both the Prince and I passed into the gray days of numb bewilderment and waiting. So grief has always seemed to me, a time of waiting not for the hurt to pass, but to become accustomed to it.

— Robin Hobb