She pulled herself together and put her eye to the eye-piece. For I still love her mother. The dream flowers and is harvested, and we are left by the wayside, having served our singular purpose in the scheme of progress: as the orange is tossed aside when sucked of its ruddy juice. But, as this produced no effect, and did not even elicit a groan, the prisoner was carried back to Newgate. I like the way you shared it.
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