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Oh dear, Marie could already feel the cloudy glassy thing wipe over her entire vision, which in this case soon dropped to the floor. Her hand still closed abouts that ring of hers, that small thing, that barely passed as a treasure, a trinket, a memory. But before long she had returned it to her smallest finger, her pinky. It was the only place it would fit, it was much to small for her index finger or suchlike. Poor lass, she felt herself being overcome, defeated. The beautiful words which were being tossed every which way, were enough to make one wonder, what made this person? What made them so kind, complimentary, so.. so pure, so gentle. "..Please your words..," she stood and could find no other phrase or meaning to help her compliment, thank, and only thought it fitting to stare hopelessly into her eyes.