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My theme is memory, that winged host that soared about me one grey morning of war-time. We possess nothing certainly except the past.
— Evelyn Waugh
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...she had regained what I thought she had lost forever, the magical sadness which had drawn me to her, the thwarted look that had seemed to say, "Surely I was made for some other purpose than this?
— Evelyn Waugh
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