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His
gaze
is
from
the
passing
of
bars
so
exhausted
that
it
doesn't
hold
a
thing
anymore.
For
him
it's
as
if
there
were
thousands
of
bars
and
behind
the
thousands
of
bars
no
world.
The
sure
stride
of
lithe,
powerful
steps
that
around
the
smallest
of
circles
turns
is
like
a
dance
of
pure
energy
about
a
center
in
which
a
great
will
stands
numbed.
Only
occasionally
without
a
sound
do
the
covers
of
the
eyes
slide
open.
An
image
rushes
in,
goes
through
the
tensed
silence
of
the
frame,
only
to
vanish
forever
in
the
heart.
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