While we shucked and silked the corn, we talked, sang old nursery rhymes […]
What a mercy you are shod with velvet, Jane! a clodhopping messenger would never do at this juncture.
I mean this bitch must have some good good to lock Dontae's ass down.
Full many a score that lone maid counted o’er Of day-dawns and night-falls—a year to the day
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