… a pale and fair devotee of fashion who has left off eating confetti, and recovered her bloom.
Using her hands like windshield wipers, she tried to flick snow away from her mouth. When she clawed at her chest and neck, the crumbs maddeningly slid back onto her face. She grew claustrophobic.
Because of the lack of proper tools he is bodging the repair.
I’ll animate the Soldier’s drooping Courage, With Love of Freedom, and Contempt of Life.
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