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...if you but lay down your arms and kneel to holy Xerxes.
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It's been more than 30 yearssince the wolf in the winter cold.
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And now, as then,it's not fear that grips him...
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...only restlessness.
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A heightened sense of things.
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The seaborne breeze coolly kissingthe sweat at his chest and neck.
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Gulls cawing...
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...complaining even as they feaston the thousands of floating dead.
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The steady breathingof the 300 at his back...
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...ready to die for himwithout a moment's pause.
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Every one of them ready to die.
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His helmet is stifling.