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Oh, no! So sorry to hear. Glad your okay.
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All my laurels you have riven away... and my roses; yet in spite of you there is one crown I bear away with me. And tonight, when I enter before God, my salute shall sweep away all the stars from the blue threshold! One thing without stain, unspotted from the world in spite of doom mine own...and that is... my white plume. Cyrano de Bergerac, Act V, scene vi.
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