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Poem	Look how the same possibilities unfold in their opposite demeanors, as though one saw different ages passing through two identical rooms. Each thinks that she props up the other, while resting wearily on her support; and they can't make use of one another, for they cause blood to rest on blood, when as in the former times they softly touch and try, along the tree-lined walks, to feel themselves conducted and to lead; ah, the ways they go are not the same.
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