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and then I gathered in a trunk the holy clothes and the holy foods
and I left somewhere not too far away, because my road was written in black ink, after I delved in an eye for a piece of time, only at the edge of the eyelid. today I still live within myself and it is very hard for me to go away where the soul is not a queen and the reason can usurp it it is too much sun and the moon cries with a scent of death
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