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How can I love, or mourn, or pity him? I, who so long my fettered hands have wrung; I, who for grief have wept my eye-sight dim; Because, while life for me was bright and young, He robbed my youth—he quenched my life’s fair ray—
“we were only twelve, too young to brood.”
― The Song of Achilles
― The Song of Achilles
ambbma0’s 2025 Year in Books
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