But it's not the first occurrence of its charming kind that I know to have involved a child. The wind of the last day blew through his mind, his sins, the jewel-eyed harlots of his imagination, fled before the hurricane, squeaking like mice in their terror and huddled under a mane of hair. He was destined to learn his own wisdom apart from others or to learn the wisdom of others himself wandering among the snares of the world. In hell, however, it is an evil.
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