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Mature
affection,
homage,
devotion,
does
not
easily
express
itself.
Its
voice
is
low.
It
is
modest
and
retiring,
it
lies
in
ambush,
waits
and
waits.
Such
is
the
mature
fruit.
Sometimes
a
life
glides
away,
and
finds
it
still
ripening
in
the
shade.
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