If you were a poet in need of rhymes, you had only to turn to a certain page. She descended down the stairs of the house, sidestepping the refuse from bingedrinking teenagers that was strewn everywhere. \" The thick girl with the blue- black hair spat. It was on the night of the Great Storm that I found him. You know—if you want freedom. ” “You are going to speak to me of things which happened before we met in London?” she asked quietly.
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