A segment of Core could have been about solely the trans community, or the exclusion of bi, pan, and a-spec people from queer spaces […]
Earth'd up, here lies an imp o' hell, / Planted by Satan's dibble— / Poor silly wretch, he's damned himsel', / To save the Lord the trouble.
Yes, there was the tree-shadowed back wall on the alley, with the stout ungrilled door.
What powerful Mulciberian fellows they must be, those Goldbeaters, whacking and thumping with huge mallets at the precious metals all day.
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