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The maester smiled...Hush now, child, I'm much older than you. I can....die as I please.
— George R. R. Martin
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Under the snowdrifts the blossoms are sleeping, Dreaming their dreams of sunshine and June, Down in the hush of their quiet they're keeping Trills from the throstle's wild summer-sung tune.
— Harriet Elizabeth Prescott Spofford
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