which when taken at the flood, leads to fortune.
awaiting at the gates the procession wavers pennants fluttering in the wind the eye of her lore is torn asunder by his love
the difference between her love and hate for him spans the breadth of rice paper, the flags of yesteryear not withstanding what he did, it is what he does, for the time of inaction is over, the tide flows, the ebb is approaching, begin your march




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