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..
...

Narcissus leant over the spring, enthralled by the only man in whose eyes he had ever dared--or been given the chance--to forget himself.

Narcissus leant over the spring, enthralled by his own ugliness, which he prided himself upon having the courage to admit.



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We remember our dead. When they were born, when they passed away--either as men of promise, or as men of acheivement.

Dag Hammarskjold