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The
first
letters
I
picked
out
did
not
interest
me.
They
were
from
men
I
meet
once
in
a
while
and
for
whom
I
feel
no
great
interest.
But
all
at
once
an
envelope
attracted
my
eyes.
It
bore
my
name
written
in
a
broad,
firm
hand;
tears
filled
my
eyes.
Here
was
a
letter
from
my
dearest
friend,
the
one
in
whom
I
used
to
confide
in
my
youth
and
who
knew
my
hopes;
he
arose
before
me
so
clearly
with
his
outstretched
hand
and
good-natured
smile
that
a
shudder
ran
through
my
frame.
Yes,
the
dead
come
back,
for
I
saw
him!
Our
memory
is
a
world
far
more
perfect
than
the
real
universe,
for
it
brings
to
life
those
who
have
gone
forever.
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