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Yet
you
have
never
been
there.
You
have
not
seen
what
it
has
become.
I
am
dying,
Maximus.
When
a
man
sees
his
end...
he
wants
to
know
there
was
some
purpose
to
his
life.
How
will
the
world
speak
my
name
in
years
to
come?
Will
I
be
known
as
the
philosopher?
The
warrior?
The
tyrant...?
Or
will
I
be
the
emperor
who
gave
Rome
back
her
true
self?
There
was
once
a
dream
that
was
Rome.
You
could
only
whisper
it.
Anything
more
than
a
whisper
and
it
would
vanish...
it
was
so
fragile.
And
I
fear
that
it
will
not
survive
the
winter.
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