REPETITIONARY AND PECULIARLY VIVID DREAMS
…fashion, and I awake. I wander along a shady road by the side of the river, and always at a certain opening an old man, staggering beneath a load of sticks, crosses my path and enters the wicket-gate leading to a tiny, white– washed and neatly thatched cottage. The man has a black patch over one eye, very thick white…
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