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That was fate. A frail, pitiful figure, Annadoah stood on the cliff, wringing her hands toward the declining sun. In the midst of that wild golden-burning desolation, Annadoah felt her utter loneliness, her tragic helplessness. In all the universe she felt herself utterly alone. Far away, awed by the heroism, the very splendor of the bravery of the man who had perished, the tribe stood murmuring.
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