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“Slowly, it flowed on its own, his pen wrote, 'There is no nobler 'cope' than 'hope' itself, and by hoping, you might see why: for these rhyme for a reason.' So he felt lumps in his throat, and then gulped, 'Whoa, was that the Holy Ghost who spoke? Who knows?' But this he was told at just the right time, the right season.” — Criss Jami
Slowly, it flowed on its own, his pen wrote, 'There is no nobler 'cope' than 'hope' itself, and by hoping, you might see why: for these rhyme for a reason.' So he felt lumps in his throat, and then gulped, 'Whoa, was that the Holy Ghost who spoke? Who knows?' But this he was told at just the right time, the right season.