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And then he cocked both his pistols and he spit in the dirt
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“You can never —”
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Corn Dancers rise in a line, follow my calf,
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How good to let imagination go,
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Let the mirror explain how beautiful you are!
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Not that I understand things.
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and our breaths on their course of puffs—they kept
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Here or henceforward it is all the same to me, I accept Time absolutely.
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I know I am solid and sound,
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an ear’s for breathing