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Here the hallways never seem to end. Every door is locked and the hum of the lights above is near deafening, but you keep walking, it's the only thing you can do. Sometimes you'll hear a whisper, but it's drowned out by the buzz. The end is still as far as it was when you started. It will never end.

“Remembrance of things past is not necessarily the remembrance of things as they were.”

― Marcel Proust

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