His chin was angular and his lips were 16 small, his mouth tiny and refined. He knocked his pipe on the teak rail. They lived in a castle, the same place she had been turned in. If only we work together. A fire enveloped her, a fire which was strangely healing, filling her heart with warmth, blotting out the menace of the world. It’s not a bit of good pretending there’s any Higher Truth or wonderful principle in this business. Happy Thanksgiving. You must forgive the poet’s license I take.
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