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Once a man sat at my board and ate my bread and drank my wine and went away laughing at me.
Then he came again for bread and wine, and I spurned him;
And the angels laughed at me.
Hate is a dead thing. Who of you would be a tomb?
It is the honor of the murdered that he is not the murderer.
The tribune of humanity is in its silent heart never its talkative mind.
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