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Esimerkit

• Yet, if I name my guilt, 't is not to boast, / None can deem harshlier of me than I deem [...].
• The turmoil went on—no rest, no peace. […] It was nearly eleven o'clock now, and he strolled out again. In the little fair created by the costers' barrows the evening only seemed beginning; and the naphtha flares made one's eyes ache, the men's voices grated harshly, and the girls' faces saddened one.