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    n the village still took on a perfum
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    d smell at dusk. They were th
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    tebook pages again, woven with the pur
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    ibbling, in which he dedicated35 a spe
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    ough he himself did not seem to noti
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    e it, those letters of recuperation an
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    ion and stimulation36 were slow
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    nging into pastoral lette
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    ters of disenchantment. On
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    ce on the deck of a mournful ship that had co
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    e to be like a sleepwalker on the autumna
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