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28 февраля 2024 г., 18:57
The doors were shut, the windows were closed. the houses were all living with that secret, golden, shut-in life of Winter, which somehow pierced the spirit of a passer-by with a wild and lonely joy, a powerful affection for man's life, which was so small, a thing against the drowning horror of the night, the storm, and everlasting darkness, and yet which had the deathless fortitude to nake a wall, to build a fire, to close a door.
