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Young for decades in my time.  Ice-walking, window-staring, blanket-gathering.

Cut for wool across lap and chest.  Watch a world; chatter out a living character.

Tap, murmur.  Draw shades.  Cell closed.

Wear robes.  White hair.  Follow halls, stairs, brandy, flame.  Taxidermies haunt.  Am comfortably old.  Younger all the time. Tired.

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