But after a few moments, her breathing evened out. Slowly, she ran her hand over the tree, felt under his fingers the rough surface of the cortex, and smiled. It was her tree. Her place. In my mind she called him a "place of memory". That such it was - here she thought about them here back in the past, he brings to mind the happy and joyful days, which had once been so many, and now was not at all. They often come here together. Her mother. Her brothers - William and Federico. And Uncle Peter. And when she returned to the tree, they were like her again, and her grief at the time of retreat.
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