When I begin to play 5 degrees of all the people you know, and whom I knew of before finding a connection, it's a recipe for a cascade of feelings. Mostly it revolves around how small the world is, circles within circles, but also lamentation over ambition ever falling short
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It had been a wish of mine to write for Quillette, but ever lurks the doubts of just what I'd have to report that would be worthwhile. Ah, but to be a creature of patronage and circumstance. I once even turned down a favour to enter Cambridge on account of bugger knows why.
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