A young man turned to pay the cabman. “I am tired,” she said, “and I want to rest. There stepped forth a tall brown man. People were not slaves to their gods as they are now, oppressed and unhappy, chained to their mortality and suffering so that they may one day enter an imaginary Heaven. She had a bittersweet fragrance, like dusty books and honeysuckle. We'll turn the tables upon 'em yet.
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