The following passage of the opium-eater’s own, evidently intended to be very fine, possesses as much of what Jeremy Bentham calls un-understandableness, as any I have for some time met, even from the Kantean school.
This approach of the crisis, as an inevitable process of reequilibration, provoked much debate in the 1930s [9 ].
Our ash is not tough and hard like that, but has an open grain, and is among the most brash or breakly of our timbers.
The men […] have gone way overboard with the spray-on tan. They’re as orange as Oompa Loompas, and they stare at my boobs for a very long time before acknowledging me.
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