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If i was a sickly little peasant boy designated by the aristocracy to carry messages back and forth for pennies and you found me against our citys outer wall with a deep wound in my chest from a musket ball and a letter cluthed in my hand and i told you that my dying wish was to have someone read that letter to me so i would know i died for something important and you open it up and you find a single large illustrated diagram of an onion would you tell me what it was? What would you say?
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Washington post making sure democracy does die in darkness by forcing it into a dark corner and strangling it for the American empire.
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The Angel of Death, Émile Jean-Horace Vernet, 1851
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