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bibliocyclist's review
4.0
In infancy, we are absent from our memories. We can live, but we can not yet relive.
For me, it will be a particular kind of wistfulness: that warm, anxious desolation that comes from leaving something you love.
For me, it will be a particular kind of wistfulness: that warm, anxious desolation that comes from leaving something you love.
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