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Towards the Light
And ’gainst the table rested
wearily.
Exhausted, desperate, she seemed
to be
A wounded animal that yearns to
die. . . .
She could not laugh, as others of
her trade,
Nor weep, . . . The fountain of
her tears had dried.
I watched the hapless creature
till my heart
Grew soft to her. The angel
whispered low:
**
This is the woman, thou hast
dared to curse!
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