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The cemetery The wick of the candle is black and cold. I bend down to light it. A strong wind blows, and I fiddle clumsily with the matches. Despite my efforts to cup them with my hand, each go out as their red tip spar
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Document Date: 2013-05-02 00:25:19
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The cemetery The wick of the candle is black and cold. I bend down to light it. A strong wind blows, and I fiddle clumsily with the matches. Despite my efforts to cup them with my hand, each go out as their red tip spar