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“Full with frets I die, but not slain by you. My chest drains itself, painlessly. Is all this not blood? Oh, Lord—it's dew! The dawn, weeping, washes over me.” — Gabriele d'Annunzio

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Full with frets I die, but not slain by you. My chest drains itself, painlessly. Is all this not blood? Oh, Lord—it's dew! The dawn, weeping, washes over me.
— Gabriele d'Annunzio