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for a wobbling old dog qui prenait son temps.
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Lo was waiting for me near the ghostly birch tree.
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"I'm drenched," she declared at the top of her voice.
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"Are you glad? To hell with the play!
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See what I mean?"
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An invisible hag's claw slammed down an upper floor window.
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In our hallway, ablaze with welcoming lights,
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my Lolita peeled off her sweater,
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shook her gemmed hair,
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stretched towards me two bare arms, raised one knee.
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"Carry me upstairs, please.
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I feel sort of romantic tonight."