For this is the truth about our soul, he thought, who fish-like inhabits deep seas and plies among obscurities threading her way between the boles of giant weeds, over sun-flickered spaces and on and on into gloom, cold, deep, inscrutable; suddenly she shoots to the surface and sports on the wind-wrinkled waves; that is, has a positive need to brush, scrape, kindle herself, gossiping.
—from Mrs. Dalloway, a book by Virginia Woolf
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Universe | Races | Average WPM | First Race |
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Long Texts | 130 | 75.10 | December 30, 2016 |
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