| “ | The moment a bird was dead, no matter how beautiful it had been when in life, the pleasure arising from the possession of it became blunted... | ” |
- ^ Mead, D., ed. (1848). The American Literary Emporium. New York, NY, US: C. H. Camp. p. 209.
| “ | The moment a bird was dead, no matter how beautiful it had been when in life, the pleasure arising from the possession of it became blunted... | ” |
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