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| | A Darker Swan With Folded Wings |
 | | The walls are darkly woodpanelled, the coffee fl and pungent, the talk animated, the air tragic. |
 | | Here one comes to see Mistress Josephines righthand breast, encased in a box of glass: the speckled yellow glory of Prousts parchment skull: the wrinkled ovaries of Madame Bovary: and, of course, Flauberts parrot. |
 | | They say it will die, that it is already dead, but it steadfastly extends, expands its imitative existence. |
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