The master, standing on his desk, was sketching as he spoke I do not know what burg. He suddenly fell into a chair, whistling so loud that he lost his breath. I had to pass him a bowl of mulled wine in which a round of lemon bathed and half left like a wreck a stick of cinnamon. I metais kneeling before him; he patted my cheek.You will need my child to take forms of voice and years. My dream came true 33 years later. The master is no longer there; he has entered into immortality, but the reflection of his beautiful soul, the so proud and faithful, is still there, and I felt thanks to him that the great master's laughter had become a benevolent one, and he agreed to smile.
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