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... er in my memory had my father sat on my bed. He always stood, towering over me, maintaining the physical manifestation of his authority.
"Your mother's condition has worsened, Neriah," he said solemnly, staring at his hands. "And the healers are not so positive again."
A cold dread washed over me. My mother has been ill for nearly two years now, with brief periods of improvement followed by devastating relapses. But my father had always maintained she would recover, that it was j ...
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Chapter 122 End of the full text