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That afternoon Skag went into the edge of the jungle. It was a breath of promised land to him. He was almost frightened with the joy of it the deep leaf-etched shadows, the separate, almost reverent bird-notes; all spaciousness and age and dignity; leaves strange, dry paths, scents new to his nostrils, but having to do with joys and fears and restlessness his brain didn't know. Skag was glad deep.
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