The dream flowers and is harvested, and we are left by the wayside, having served our singular purpose in the scheme of progress: as the orange is tossed aside when sucked of its ruddy juice. But when all was over, a sorrowful calm succeeded, and, if not free from grief, she was tranquil. "I understand," she said. She stood face to face with him, and his voice cut across her speech and made her stop abruptly.
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