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People were not slaves to their gods as they are now, oppressed and unhappy, chained to their mortality and suffering so that they may one day enter an imaginary Heaven. She recalled that day of the typhoon and the sloop crashing on the outer reefs. “You were never born,” he declared, “to follow the well worn roads. When I think of it—” “But these are things I want to tell you now!” “I made a little song of it. Gods! what it must be to pour out strong, splendid verse—mighty lines! mighty lines! If I do, Ann Veronica, it will be you. There, that sounds frightfully involved, doesn’t it, but perhaps you can make out what I mean. “Oh Christ! How old were you?” “Just—well, I was young. " But the doctor softened the refusal by smiling.
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