"But finally you find that you have people of flesh and blood on your hands, people with will and an individual sensibility of their own, made out of component parts you are unable to change, manipulate or distort." (Harold Pinter)
As the snows melt on the high peaks, the streams flow, white and icy, and we will walk again my love, through the meadows lit of water drops like crystal, where our bare feet do not feel the chill…
For we do not forget, and with early summer, our story begins again…
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The story does begin (again)
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