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The Mother On leaving Bedlam, she might have found peace for a moment, a day, a year, perhaps but for the shroud of night she took with her. Instead, she dressed in the simpleton's smile which she wore with conviction and with style, persuaded family of her madness. Given a jolt or two of their reason, she stumbled into electric respite - found humility, humour, sanity of sorts. Yet in the quiet and dark hours, he loved to listen to her sweet singing, wild and wanton, careless with perfection.
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