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求《英国文学作品选读》中文版 |
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I no longer have to do without now,
all colors are translated into sounds and smells. And they ring infinitely sweet like tones. why should I need a book? The wind leafs through the tree; and I know what passes there for words, and sometimes repeat them softly. And death, who plucks eye like flowers, doesn't find my eyes... |
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