Get it off your soul. It’s made up of things as small as the diameter of hairs and big as life and death. She trailed him to his apartment and a black door that read 727 in solemn gold-tone lettering. She heard this standard expression of a strong soul wrung with a critical coldness that astonished herself. It probably had its own repulsive oubliette in the bottom, where tiny princesses could fall and break their necks. “They have no plans for us. I don’t want to tear at you with hot, rough hands.
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