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Description: | I had to know the point to which the path was tracked and when the definition would cease to be my own |
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Description: | The measure of solitude fades in the ripples and there are more prizes than there are fish |
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Description: | Sunday was the day when, to a stranger, almost nothing happened. But to us it was the best day of all |
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Description: | Page from Joy Camps photo album displaying three photographs. In one photograph Barbara Ellen Joy, camp owner and co-director, cooks over a large grill are... |
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