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That may be how the oblong serves a true desire. But if it is otherwise, if it is something merely close to what it seems, then its leaving us aside, we dabs of people, need not be thoughtlessly or cruelly meant. We are finite as we stand: the workman on a roof, the watcher on the shore. But when the silhouette is no longer what we are, as we are shaded out, stopped short of course of any leap to where all circles straighten, all lines fuse, we shall be glad – for as long as we can be – that our mind can entertain no more than blue, blue, and blue, and it is by this faculty that we see where we are, and out of what we came here, born alive.

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