Finally he began to hover in the open window of the shack, buzzing there with his furious wings, looking at me beadily, then, flash, he was gone.
Her dairies as Wallop had called them were on display, or at least as much of them as she and Ruth could not contrive to cover.
I am a poseur and I don't care / I like to make people stare
Busyness was, of course, Picasso’s default mode, conveyed here in a kind of logomaniacal flow of images intertwined with language.
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