Practice Typing
A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man - Joyce, James ยท 62 words
O how cold and strange it was to think of that. All the dark was cold and strange. There were pale strange faces there, great eyes like carriagelamps. They were the ghosts of murderers, the figures of marshals who had received their deathwound on battlefields far away over the sea. What did they wish to say that their faces were so strange.
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