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Chapter XI

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Flesh of my flesh was gone, but bone of my bone was left--
I stole them all from the lawyers--and you, will you
call it a theft?--
My baby, the bones that had sucked me, the bones that had laughed
and had cried--
Theirs? O no! they are mine--not theirs--they had moved in my side.

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The World's Best Poetry, Volume 09: Of Tragedy: of HumourChapter XI

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