“What a fool I am!” he muttered, standing up on the hearthrug, and leaning his elbows upon the broad mantelpiece. “All right, Dunster,” he said. I have often felt before that it is only when one has nothing to say that one can write easy poetry. ‘Comment? This is not a mirror!’ It was a portrait. "I'm sorry, Mr. “Fuck you, Julian Rimbauer.
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