“The pace of the race pulls it own gracious punches – even if she will still decide to speak in silenced syllables. Her naked body of adolescent bones can crawl for all he cares anymore. Cold, temperate and initially comfortably claustrophobic with words… He shuts the door, implores for her “minder” to furthermore explore; the bones of her beatnik being. These fingers have been creeping both crawling… against the wait of her strengthening faith!”

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