As the machine slipped over the hilltop hiding the dam from sight, Bob turned his eyes to the front. He was riding into the future, happy and content.,
Your words have stabbed my heart. No power on earth could restore the peace you have destroyed. I will escape from my torture. When you read this, I shall be no more. But the triumph shall no longer be yours—the draught you have drank was given by the hand of the injured,
And minutes as centuries measure,.
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