....
"But here the way becomes less clear. It is never a single incident,
nor even a closely knit series of events that makes us what we are,
but a lifetime of broken promises and shattered dreams. They say that
hope springs eternal, and I dare say that's true. More's the pity,
since it must always end in disillusion, and finally, in dark and
lonely death."
She felt her daughter's hand grasp her own, and saw that there were
standing tears in her eyes. As if a veil had been drawn aside between
them, she saw at last the terrible loss the girl had already suffered,
and was suffering still, in the form of an impossible love for a man
three years dead. Yes, thought the dark widow to herself, she deserves
to know the truth.
"I began to feel the need for solitude, and a place to dwell on the
long chains of thought that had taken root inside me. So I made this
place my own, and spent long hours, whole days and nights here,
learning. For I had been shown three books of Druid lore during the
first year of my mourning, by an old Welsh woman who lived in the
village, my only real companion.
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