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1    1|    particular form, my tailoress tells me gravely, "They do not
2    1|        whom he was contemporary, tells us that "they burrow themselves
3    1|         from doing that which he tells me he would like to do.
4    3|      like ants; though the fable tells us that we were long ago
5    3|  concentrated in it. My instinct tells me that my head is an organ
6    6|          it with pine woods; who tells me stories of old time and
7   10|        with surrounding forests, tells me that in those days he
8   11| distinguished. Benvenuto Cellini tells us in his memoirs, that,
9   11|         superstition. Beside, he tells us that he showed it to