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“Only through time time is conquered.”

She wondered if Mr.Eliot’s lack of punctuation was an obvious pun or an oversight cloaked later as poetic license.

She decided the former, despite the obvious, would still qualify him as a worthy ally. 

By now she was dismissive of poetic licenses, a weak camouflage.

Like all men who like to sit and think, he had ignited the war between her and the universe.

It was now a distraction to listen to his whisperings across human constructs of time.

 

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