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“But he had never had a happiness of his own, never had himself: never since he was a little boy in the Forest Sauvage. It was not fair to steal away everything from him. They had made him like the blinded gold—finch they were speaking of, which was to pour out its song for man until it burst its heart, but always blind.” — T.H. White
But he had never had a happiness of his own, never had himself: never since he was a little boy in the Forest Sauvage. It was not fair to steal away everything from him. They had made him like the blinded gold—finch they were speaking of, which was to pour out its song for man until it burst its heart, but always blind.