She looked up quickly. The dream flowers and is harvested, and we are left by the wayside, having served our singular purpose in the scheme of progress: as the orange is tossed aside when sucked of its ruddy juice. I suppose it is the mirrors and decorations. She took the initiative and guided his fingers inside her and bore down. This time they would call it murder. “I was never so clear in all my life as I have been in this business.
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