typeracer

Pit Stop
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Nothing, nothing mattered, and I knew why. So did he. Throughout the whole absurd life I'd lived, a dark wind had been rising toward me from somewhere deep in my future, across years that were still to come, and as it passed, this wind leveled whatever was offered to me at the time, in years no more real than the ones I was living. What did other people's deaths or a mother's love matter to me; what did his God or the lives people choose or the fate they think they elect matter to me when we're all elected by the same fate, me and billions of privileged people like him who also called themselves my brothers?
The Stranger (book) by Albert Camus
Language: English
This text has been typed more than 1000 times:
Avg. speed: 102 WPM
Avg. accuracy: 97.5%

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1 iuseplover 217 WPM 97.0% N/A 1/2 July 9, 2017
2 arenasnow2 197 WPM 99.0% N/A 1/3 July 26, 2017
3 uberkelium 179 WPM 100.0% N/A 1/3 June 7, 2017
4 arc_sec 175 WPM 99.0% 341 1/1 April 26, 2018
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8 florentine 164 WPM 90.0% N/A 1/3 Feb. 9, 2017
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