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Her way was not innate, it was conditioned. When the man happened upon her notebook, he realized how true this was. She had used the pages to capture moments, those of confusion and of clarity, those of creativity and intellectualism, those of joy and of sorrow. The pages told the story of her life, each day having influenced her, and each day, she would remark on this influence. He coveted this notebook, as he had done her.

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