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37 tHE AnGEL i stroll through Malvasinka,14 graves of children all around, the little Anka and the ninka sleep forever on their final ground. upon a narrow mound of clay kneels hidden under poppies high, with broken, dusty wing astray a small ceramic cherub nigh. The crippled angel wakes in me compassion. Ah, poor thing! But see! escaping from its lips flies free a little butterfly in glee. ...

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