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34 Two Lungs Outside the mine, I met a superb lyrebird. He was bound to a slave and his song was the chain, wind and glasses clinking in the dark. Then a Russian girl from the Rathmines came up and whispered her name, which I have forgotten, long black hair locking hands with the tail of the bird. We all carried coal to the roofless breaker up the road and watched the shadows work to make the sky-sized meteor. Pipe in the mouth of the conscript and me with my candle, the swan in the girl. ...


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