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Poem	The conclusion is growing . . . I feel sure, my lord, this august court will entertain the plea Not Guilty by reason of death. I can say no more except that for the record I add that all the crimes since all the times he died will be due to the breath of unknown others, sweating in theri guilt while my client Henry's brow of stainless steel rests free, as well it may, of all such turbulence, whereof not built Henry lies clear as any onion-peel in any sandwich, say. He spiced us: there, my lord, the wicked fault lodges: we judged him when we did not know and we did judge him wrong, lying incapable of crime save salt preservative in cases here below adduced. Not to prolong
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