By what I then thought to be great good luck I had succeeded in getting a three-berth cabin for myself and my little boy alone—Nos. 45, 46, 47—on the starboard side of the ship.
...when I get a whiff of precisely where this scent is coming from: my sweaty (and slightly hairy) armpit. Pee-ew.
Politicians who appeared to deviate from the new ‘mediamacro consensus’ of deficit fetishism suffered as a consequence.
Twenty years he dallied there between conjugial love and its chaste delights and scortatory love and its foul pleasures.
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