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Let us add what seems a strange thing to state. Those men, the only
ones he knew, were unknown to him.
He could not have said who they were. His childhood had been passed
among them, without his having the consciousness of being of them. He
was in juxtaposition to them, nothing more.
He had just been--forgotten--by them.
He had no money about him, no shoes to his feet, scarcely a garment to
his body, not even a piece of bread in his pocket.
It was winter--it was night. It would be necessary to walk several
leagues before a human habitation could be reached.
He did not know where he was.
He knew nothing, unless it was that those who had come with him to the
brink of the sea had gone away without him.
He felt himself put outside the pale of life.
He felt that man failed him.
He was ten years old.
The child was in a desert, between depths where he saw the night rising
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