Well, in there lives a hundred-year-old Elder with a nasty ponytail, who stuffs jacks and finishing nails in his splatter gun and patrols these fields at night on his fast electric Cushman.
Craig, who at twenty was taller than his father, blushed furiously as he practically threw two small boxes on the table in front of the twins. “Happy birthday”, he managed.
The modern bathroom is the temple of personal hygiene.
In short, Jack, it was more pride than love, as I now find it, that put me upon making such a confounded rout about losing this noble varletess.
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