“Who, she asked, who’s the one that grows back your flowers when you are lost in your tempests?
His mouth and eyes widened a little, and he stopped for a few moments, looking at the ground. His robes had gotten a bit torn and pretty muddy below the knee, and his shoes were surrounded by strangely shaped shells – or shards of them. Finding what they actually looked like meant seeking what went together or not, or the rare ones that were whole.
He finally replied : I think… I think that would be me. Some people help from time to time, but the truth is, I always am alone in helping myself.”

Dreams of Discussions, Anne of Maumesnil

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