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56 Fairy Tale I want to hide you in a rice grain, a turnip seed, a magic bean. Imagine! that I should quicken you, when stories abound with children who lose their mother (mothers taken to sickbeds, mothers drinking the wrong potion, mothers dying at the cusp of the sea). Oh there are moments, my limpet, my trumpeting swan, I would turn you back into the blissful instant before the round hour of your making. Yesterday would be a flower you would never visit, and when we came to the bridge where we must part—you would not remember me. I would let you go. ...

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