In the cellars of the night, when the mind starts moving around old trunks of bad times, the pain of this and the shame of that, the memory of a small boldness is a hand to hold.
在夜晚的地窖里，当我们的思想开始绕着过去那些糟糕时光的树干转动时，这种痛苦和那种耻辱，那种小小的勇气的记忆是可以握住的手。
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