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Finally tragedy, finally weeping. Finally the memory of man’s hubris. Finally the iceberg, the bomb, the burn always lurking to fill the trenches, the beaches, the ovens, the jungles, the deserts. The hubris that will eat up trees and children and even the dead with relish; the way man will peel history like an onion, or sometimes drill a hole right through.
And I Do Not Forgive You: Stories and Other Revenges
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