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Poem	Suddenly she steps, wrapped into the wind, brightly into brightness, as if singled out, while now the room as though cut to fit behind her fills the door darkly like the ground of cameo, that lets a glimmer through at the edges; and you think the evening wasn't there before she stepped out, and on the railing set forth just a little of herself, just her hands, --to be completely light: as if passed on by the rows of houses to the heavens, to be swayed by everything.
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