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- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - 2015-03-29 | [This text should be read in francais] | Submited by Guy Rancourt Le soleil glisse derrière la façade s’installe au milieu de la rue et nous jette son souffle vermeil à la figure. Innsbruck, il faut que je te quitte. Mais demain un soleil de braise viendra dans la forêt moribonde et grise où nous irons vivre et travailler. (Tomas Tranströmer, Funeste gondole, 1996)
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