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THE WHEEL

I.The height of a man, it trembled in the corner,Swayed by their entrance;Its slender spokes were fragrantWith the resinous breath of pine woodsAnd of the pungent oil,-Inert, waiting the touch of lifeTo bring it to life.
The old grandfather brooded a moment. . . ."I am not sure what it will do . . . not yet. . . .Not what I want it to do."
"And that?"
"To run forever!From early time men have sought it,—And I . . . for years. . . . But, watch!"
He loosened a clutch . . . a gentle push. . . .Whirr—click! Whirr—click!Around and around, and the click as the spokes,Reaching the height, folded and shortened,Lengthening again as it neared the bottom—Whirr—click! Whirr—click!

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