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One day, on a crag, Time stopped him. "Who are you?" asked the hand on his shoulder. "I? Why, I’m just a witness." Time paused, but the hand did not stir. He remained mute, answering impossibility with impossibility. He hadn’t imagined that the moment would come so, or that when it came, he would need aught else but the willingness to speak and the story he had carried so long in his water-gourd.
 
 

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