Every purification, adapted to the ordered environment, forms man's contentment. That imposed happiness of dependence pays tribute to possessions, far from the audible call. The voice of conduciveness falls silent in the mass of the must of apparent contentment. If the spell of loss takes hold, the boat of possession capsizes in the harbour of constant decay. That sound, whose echo was heard at the beginning of the journey, moulded in the first cry, dies away in the reaching action. Their ear, hearing the abundance of weariness, imagines itself in the sound of the ever universal field.
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