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By Tolstoy (from 'Anna Karenina') / June 22, 1982



He never saw again what he saw that morning. The children on their way to school , the silvery grey pigeons that flew from the roofs to the pavement, the little loaves of bread that some invisible hand had put out, all seemed to him divine. Two little boys ran towards a pigeon and looked smilingly at Levin; the pigeon fluttered its wings and flew off, glistening in the sun, through the quivering snow-dust in the air; and from a window came the odour of freshly-baked bred, as a few little rolls were laid on the sill....

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