Gone were the old days where an old maid banged on an upright piano above a roaring crowd, this sound was loud enough to be heard outside the building, she thought to herself as her eardrums throbbed. Loneliness. We’re regarded as inflammable litter that mustn’t be left about. “Here we are,” he said, “shining through each other like light through a stained-glass window. . take it slow. No man knew whence she had come nor why.
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