Tonight Lucy doled out outré physiological theories of boys and their overactive hormones. Neither would she allow herself to feel guilty nor would she allow him to find a way into the house. None of this by-play escaped Ruth, whose sense of humour needed no developing. Every word you utter puzzles me. “Hey, Mike. ’ ‘It is you who will get the head blown off,’ threatened the young lady fiercely. The dream flowers and is harvested, and we are left by the wayside, having served our singular purpose in the scheme of progress: as the orange is tossed aside when sucked of its ruddy juice.
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