Durm unfolded his hands, spread them wide. 'To what purpose? Nix, Her Majesty and I are doing all that can be done. He finds other visitors fretsome.' Gar glared. 'You're saying he'd find me fretsome? I am his son, Durm.'
As she heard him sousing heartily in cold water, heard the eager scratch of the steel comb on the side of the bowl, as he wetted his hair, she closed her eyes in disgust.
He skips 500 times a day and runs three kilometers a day to chase away his fatty bom bom blues.
ileocaecal fold
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