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In the month of Nisan in the twentieth year of King Artaxerxes, when wine was before him, I took up the wine and gave it to the king. Now I had not been sad before in his presence.

So the king said to me, Why do you look sad, since you are not sick? This is nothing but sorrow of heart. Then I was very much afraid

And said to the king, Let the king live forever! Why should I not be sad faced when the city, the place of my fathers’ sepulchers, lies waste, and its [fortified] gates are consumed by fire?

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