Was not the world a vast prison, and women born slaves? Was I a monster, a blot upon the earth, from which all men fled and whom all men disowned? May I not witness your grief? Am I not your friend? Art thou not tired, and beaten with stripes, even as I am? Who buys a minute’s mirth to wail a week?

Joy?

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Lament

Shannon Burns

Winter 2021

Embrace Australia’s finest writers

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Embrace Australia’s finest writers

Fiction

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