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stretched there on the grass to look at the sky and at the dove which passed above their heads.

They had reached the right point, they could have held each other tight they could have kissed they could have blends like flames in the fire and madly they could have sighed, wept, laughed; but nothing did they do except to wait, absorbed & still like snow upon the mountain flushed by the sun which, setting, tears from everything a cup of pain