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... bs fell, deadened and muted, upon my ears as I, too, tried to suppress the welling pain in my heart. The sounds that wrenched themselves from Spellsong's throat weren't the kind that you projected to the world, unable to keep them quiet and contained. It wasn't an eruption of pain and misery that tore its way from the throat until you were ragged and sore.

No. This was the weeping of something seeping through cracks that had been open for a long time. It was soft and subdued, the sort of ...

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