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[inlibrary] => Array
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[0] => Blow out, you bugles, over the rich Dead! / %There's none of these so lonely and poor of old, / %But, dying, has made us rarer gifts than gold. / These laid the world away; poured out the red / Sweet wine of youth; gave up the years to be / %Of work and joy, and that unhoped serene, / %That men call age; and those who would have been, / Their sons, they gave, their immortality.
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