"It's the little cruelities that get you," She told him. "Never the big hurts, the pain you can point to, and say 'Oh I see this bruise,' but the wounds that you can't even tell are there until one day you are eating a bowl of fennel soup or moon bathing on the balcony of your home and you can't move, you can't do anything, because you think, Well something is dead in me, What has been done to me, and Why did I allow this to happen? And now, and now, and now...

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