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 The carriage rolled away with him inside, Leaving the two of us alive together In the same hemisphere to hate each other. I don't know now whether he's here alive, Or whether he's here dead. But that, of course, As you would say, is only a tired man's fancy. You know that I have driven the wheels too fast Of late, and all for gold I do not need. When are we mortals to be sensible, Paying no more for life than life is worth? Better for us, no doubt, we do not know How much we pay or what it is we buy." He waited, gazing at me as if asking The worth of what the universe had for sale For one confessed remorse. Avon, I knew, Had driven the wheels too fast, but not for gold.