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#8 Womens Clothing
I have thrown last sight at the house. Human dwelling. It built and plastered womens hands.
Here there lived family. With children, probably. The mistress on spring landed flowers
on a bed. The owner cut a green hedge which now is ugly shown. Or they employed the
clothing specialist. A wave grieve also anger has flooded me again. They are not present
more. And anything it any more will not be.
I cannot live with this consciousness. It is better to die. And it is even better - to try to
win.
Probably, this house - last human habitation which to me could be seen. I cling to it a
sight as sentenced to death clings to walls of the chamber, not wishing to leave.
Nonsense what. I not the militarian. I only former editor of a city weekly journal. It is
too sentimental. It is impossible so to go to fight. We shall win. We shall kill the
Creature. This time we shall necessarily kill. Absolute invulnerability does not happen.
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