“So my days go on, and grow to weeks and months. So will they grow to years, should life so long remain an unwelcome guest within me: for what is man without hope? and is not hope nigh dead within this weary breast?”
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“So my days go on, and grow to weeks and months. So will they grow to years, should life so long remain an unwelcome guest within me: for what is man without hope? and is not hope nigh dead within this weary breast?”
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