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Day unto day bequeaths its fading sun,
and night after night laments for night.
Summer after summer is gathered in fall
and the world in its sorrow gives song.
Tomorrow we’ll die, the word in us…
Giorgio [Entering]:Am I disturbing you?Olga:So it seems! What good wind brings you here? Sit down.Giorgio:Thank you. I’m returning from the Exposition . . .Olga:Ah, you went! . . .Giorgio:.…