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Katherine Hitchens

Now is the winter of our discontent, made glorious summer by this sun of York. And all the clouds that lour’d upon our house, in the deep bosom of the ocean buried. Now are our brows bound with victorious wreaths.

Mark Schneider

Now is the winter of our discontent, made glorious summer by this sun of York. And all the clouds that lour’d upon our house, in the deep bosom of the ocean buried. Now are our brows bound with victorious wreaths.

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