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isabela, twenty-two / mainly an aesthetics and literature blog
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And he would go back to his corner, sit down, hide his face in his hands and again sink into dreams and reminiscences… and again he was haunted by hopes.
Fyodor Dostoyevsky, The Possessed - Book II, Chapter Five (trans. Constance Garnett)
   posted 3 years ago on December 9, 2017
   barcarole         barcarole
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