When leaping into the word, and the file limit, trees have
been winter for 78 days. The personal effect of doubt reflects in topic
sentences. The benches clear.
Africa states its need to be clear. It is an it, from towns
of conscious. But we, the tone of free taken, speak a name and ownering. The time
of words has escaped.
We have a penchant and resistor. Class is a clambake or better
still. Better still is the announcement from last night. Children darken.
Children who were only possible, were substituted, were sent
the mass of explanations. That is the Africa that we grew, right here. You are
talking it now with me.
The word, then, that classic phase of existence, still seems
much. This is the sailor’s life, explained in drowning.
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