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She was clad in fresh linen, but still wore the riding-habit she had appropriated, having sponged out the spots of blood late last night and left it to dry in the kitchens. “It’s your birthday today, May Day. White assented. . A certain irritation crept into his manner as he did so. She was a schizophrenic, got locked up later in some sort of state mental ward. She glanced at him. With what airs we human atoms invest ourselves! What ridiculous fancies of our importance! We believe we have destinies, when we have only destinations: that we are something immortal, when each of us is in truth only the repository of a dream. “I am a fool,” he said.
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This video was uploaded to adiszena.com on 20-07-2024 23:09:03
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