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“The very highest thoughts, pierced with this dread, plummet to earth, snapping the branches of trees. The hunter comes upon it, not quite, it is not quite dead. A wing lifts, goes limp, and lifts again. Not quite, not quite dead.” — Thomas M. Disch
The very highest thoughts, pierced with this dread, plummet to earth, snapping the branches of trees.
The hunter comes upon it, not quite, it is not quite dead. A wing lifts, goes limp, and lifts again. Not quite, not quite dead.