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This was her remembering room like the perfumed gardens of the East. Here, like the Finns who, when they drew water from a well, returned two drops so that the ''well should not be killed,'' she had learned to hold back a half-finished dream to take out and review another day. This was where there was always a memento, a scrap, a souvenir, a memory left over from another day. This was where she knew she must make provision for a time when her need was greater, her thirst not quenched, as now, by a sip or two.

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