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Thursday 16 April 2020

Sometimes I’m worried

... that I might not make any difference. Sometimes I fear that I might have caught you on your way out. However much I might enjoy talking to you, however much I might wish to know you better, I won’t be able to persuade you to stay. And you would take all the good things with you when you go. (All the good things that are yours alone, that no one else is or could ever be quite the same.)

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