Like some kind of masonic handshake, Collie passed Vanya a tube of black lippie. She smeared it carelessly across her wide mouth and handed it to me. My parents would have a hissy fit if they knew I put on lipstick but they weren't around.
I don't value her resentment the bounce of a cracker.
Anything […] that should derogate, minish, or hurt his glory and his name.
Every selectman in the state of New Hampshire seems to be positive that growth in a town will lower taxes, but if you plot growth rates against tax rates, you find a scatter as random as the stars in a New Hampshire winter sky.
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