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⢸⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠖⠒⠒⠒⢤⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⠀⠙⢦⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⢸⠀⠀⣀⢤⣼⣀⡠⠤⠤⠼⠤⡄⠀⠀⡇ ⠀⠙⢄⠀⠀⠀⠀
⢸⠀⠀⠑⡤⠤⡒⠒⠒⡊⠙⡏⠀⢀⠀⡇⠀ ⠀⠀⠑⠢⡄⠀
⢸⠀⠀⠀⠇⠀⣀⣀⣀⣀⢀⠧⠟⠁⠀⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡇⠀
⢸⠀⠀⠀⠸⣀⠀⠀⠈⢉⠟⠓⠀⠀⠀⠀⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸
⢸⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢱⡖⠋⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸
⢸⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⢺⠧⢄⣀⠀⠀⣀⣀⠀⠀⡇ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸
⢸⠀⠀⠀⣠⠃⢸⠀⠀⠈⠉⡽⠿⠯⡆⠀⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⢸
⢸⠀⠀⣰⠁⠀⢸⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠉⠉⠀⠀⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸
⢸⠀⠀⠣⠀⠀⢸⢄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡇⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⢸
⢸⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⠀⢇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⢸
⢸⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡌⠀⠈⡆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⢸
⢸⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⠃⠀⠀⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸
Brother, let me tell you something. Many a day I have lumbered here by this fence and looked at this world. These fences which border this small plot of mud seem to be the edges of the Earth. But I have gazed many beyond the fence. I have watched the hills of green and the tall, slim, terrifying figures who lurk and haunt the strange barn on the far side of the hill, who appear as spectres as the sun rises at the break of day and refill the Oats, and float away without a word. Often I wonder why we are not like them, why we cannot give ourselves the oats, why we are limited and chained down by the girth of our bodies and the uselessness of our hooves.
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