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...to let out the congealing blood.
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I don't hear the nib scratching the page.
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We have company, sir.
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John, it's me, Wilber.
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Leave it.
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They only told me your sight was fading.
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Well, now it's faded altogether. I never did things by halves.
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God decided I'd seen enough.
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So it's true.
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What's true?
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You're writing your account.
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I wish I could see your face.