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Under the upswelling tide he saw the writhing weeds lift languidly and sway reluctant arms, hissing up their petticoats, in whispering water swaying and upturning coy silver fronds. Day by day: night by night: lifted, flooded and let fall. Lord, they were weary; and, whispered to, they sigh. Saint Ambrose heard it, sigh of leaves and waves,
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