Along the road the magpies walk with hands in pockets, left and right. They tilt their heads, and stroll and talk. In their well-fitted black and white. They look like certain gentlemen who seem most nonchalant and wise until their meal is served — and then what clashing beaks, what greedy eyes! But not one man that I have heard throws back his head in such a song of grace and praise — no man nor bird. Their greed is brief; their joy is long. For each is born with such a throat as thanks his God with every note.SourceThe script ran 0.001 seconds.
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