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| A chain of words, simple self-replicating machine , drags itself across Jacob's face, across his mouth, as if Jacob were the phonograph needle needed to play the song hidden in the sequence of twisted scribble. A song of hope. |
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| A chain of words, simple self-replicating machine, drags itself across Jacob's face, across his mouth, as if Jacob were the phonograph needle needed to play the song hidden in the sequence of twisted scribble. A song of hope. | ||