We are in the year of grace I345, in the month of the first tulips. The sun is shining and I am preparing to leave for Bruges. I have finally decided to pull the stone from the wall of my cell, the stone which has hidden for I5 years those strange notes I compiled. I don't have the courage to reread them. I will simply add to them this short preamble and a brief conclusion, and put them back in their hiding place. Really, though, I ought to destroy them.

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