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Salvaged from a notecard dated 1847 found in 1915 in Western Ireland: "...is all we could muster. The Great Hunger has its cold, dead hands tight around our neck of the woods as well. Billy 'as gone in search of felled trees for this wall of winter coming. But if he dunnit come, heaven's against, we'll be forg..." forging? forgathering? forgiven? forgotten?
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