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“One is always playing the surgeon, one kills always the thing one loves best. . He sat down on the sill of the open window, folded his arms, and stared straight before him for a long time over the wilderness of tiles and chimney-pots into a sky that was blue and empty. There were two. I did not reckon upon—him. ” “Yes, but you forget; how am I to live?” “Easily. 3.

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