I notoriously fell for my leading man. I really did. By the third or fourth leading man I said No, Mom, it's real. I love him. I know it is sort of like a pattern but I love him. There is legitimacy to a showmance."
No, Mom, it's real. I love him. I know it is sort of like a pattern but I love him.
But is there nothing, then, save rank imposture, / In all these tales of goblinry at Devorgoil?
St. Martin [of Tours] looks round, first, deliberately;—becomes aware of a tatterdemalion and thirsty-looking soul of a beggar at his chair side, who has managed to get his cup filled somehow, also—by a charitable lacquey. St. Martin turns his back on the Empress, and hobnobs with him!
This homework is a grind.
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