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Quotation

"Over his bent head I look at the stained-glass windows of his room, dark against the night sky, and the Tudor rose, white with a red core, that his mother has inset into every window of his room. Tonight it does not look to me as if the white rose and the red are blooming together as one, tonight it looks as if the white rose of York has been stabbed in its pure white heart and is bleeding scarlet red. Tonight, I know that I do indeed have much to forgive."