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The dog approached timidly, his tail going furiously. It is dull—deadly dull. "What poet was that?" "Stevenson. At noon the doctor himself arrived. It was red and chapped. With what airs we human atoms invest ourselves! What ridiculous fancies of our importance! We believe we have destinies, when we have only destinations: that we are something immortal, when each of us is in truth only the repository of a dream.

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This video was uploaded to hkbifen.com on 20-07-2024 16:04:45

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