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Our tousle-headed orphans remember cheerful days, when their room was filled with warmth and light, when the large brown wardrobe with the black doors held mysteries whose revelation could only please, but now these memories bite as with cruel beaks. A new day, a new year, but the same biting hunger, the same emptiness, darkness—cold and black. Only a shadow stands where the wardrobe had been. Open the door of that shadow—here the orphans grieve.