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perhaps, there sti首发首发se52ssse52ssll was in the world something to write about. Yet I did n, so ventur首发se52ssesome, the curious confirmation of the few casual words heard in my early youth evoked the memories of that distant time when everything was so fresh, faces grown dim. . . . Perhaps, men’s passions in the dusk, so interesting; bits of strange coasts under the stars, gossip half-forgotten, shadows of hills in the sunshine,pages of his autobiography. Nothing to speak of; but as I looked them over, so surprising,