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The hay rustled pleasantly as she nestled down in it, and made a little penthouse over her head, to keep off the keen, hot sun-arrows. There was a great oak-tree too, which partly shaded this favored haycock, and on one of its branches a squirrel came running out, and then sat up and looked at Hildegarde with bright, inquisitive eyes. A maiden, all brown and gold, on a golden haycock!
Ready for myself and for my most hidden Will: a bow eager for its arrow, an arrow eager for its star: A star, ready and ripe in its noontide, glowing, pierced, blessed, by annihilating sun-arrows: A sun itself, and an inexorable sun-will, ready for annihilation in victory! O Will, thou change of every need, MY needfulness! Spare me for one great victory! Thus spake Zarathustra.
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