Her mother was a goddess to her all through her youth, the mysterious ruler of all things beautiful and wonderful and lunar, her eyes that glinted spectral blue, as if she had the knowledge and the magic to raise the very dead. Her acrid rose perfume oil that hung in the air that smelled like a head shop, her V. She crept behind the open door and pounced on him when he came out of the bathroom, knocking him onto the floor with a loud thud. Kneebone on her way to the door, "how could you bring such creatures with you, especially on an occasion like this, when we haven't met for a fortnight!" "Couldn't help it, my life," returned the gentleman addressed, in the same tone; "but you little know who those individuals are. I put my foot down like—like adamant.
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