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Misery is mine!
    Indeed, I am like one who gathers the summer fruits, as gleanings of the vineyard:
    There is no cluster of grapes to eat.
    My soul desires to eat the early fig.
The godly man has perished out of the earth,
    and there is no one upright among men.
    They all lie in wait for blood;
    every man hunts his brother with a net.

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