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He’s become stronger during our voyage, my lad has. But his eyes—they’ve kept that patient pain I’ve seen in him only one other time, back when he was twenty-one and had despaired of ever being allowed to truly live, considering Menegilda’s treatment of him.
Only when the silver rain-curtain rolls back to reveal those glorious white shores do I begin to see life there in those beloved eyes. Only then do I see wonder—and hope—return to my Frodo.
I think he will stay with us now and accept healing at last, my dear, dear boy.
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