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She
liked
being
reminded
of
butterflies.
She
remembered
being
six
or
seven
and
crying
over
the
fates
of
the
butterflies
in
her
yard
after
learning
that
they
lived
for
only
a
few
days.
Her
mother
had
comforted
her
and
told
her
not
to
be
sad
for
the
butterflies,
that
just
because
their
lives
were
short
didn't
mean
they
were
tragic.
Watching
them
flying
in
the
warm
sun
among
the
daisies
in
their
garden,
her
mother
had
said
to
her,
see,
they
have
a
beautiful
life.
Alice
liked
remembering
that.
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