| http://www.w3.org/ns/prov#value | - Marie-Laure, stepping out fearfully into the shattered streets of St. Malo: it is what a mouse must feel, she thinks, as it steps from its hole into the open blades of a meadow, never knowing what shadow might come cruising from above.Or Werner, recalling the broken down miners of his home village: To men like that, time was a surfeit, a barrel they watched slowly drain.
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