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At the touch of the flame, the candlewick flared then glowed, the burnt end of the linen thread curling into blackness. With a sharp breath, Faramir blew out the smoldering straw in his hand.
“We burn one for each kinsman who died this past year. For memory’s sake and to light their way to the Halls of Mandos.”
Eowyn stared at the row of tall candles. Flames of mingled ivory and blue -- she counted four lights swaying in the darkness. “A most worthy custom, husband; we have none like it in Rohan,” she said, her eyes alight with sudden tears.
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