[Claire loosens her hold on Bree, not wanting her sleeping mind to mistake her arms for a man holding her down, but she does try to cup her face, smoothing away wisps of hair.]
Shh, shh. Mama's here, my little smudge. You're all right. My sweet girl.
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Shh, shh. Mama's here, my little smudge. You're all right. My sweet girl.