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how the so-clear portents of youth were alchemized by time into the many-layered ambiguities of adult life.
he was not so burdened by irony as to defeat wisdom.
Season after season falling to the earth like shot birds, arrows in their breasts, through this lifetime that was her own, and her only one.
Alessan looked at the bent, balding figure with his weirdly deformed face, and felt a blurred, disorienting kinship to the man. As if the two of them were linked here, if only in their inability to know how to react to all of this.
