I plague my honor with adverts for immunity, and I gawk in disbelief when she morphs out of legitimate reason, but I hurry to exclaim some proof of knowingness before the internal censoring motor fires up, and I launch a nostalgic trance onto myself like a childish blanky, though I speak in acceptable passwords, and I feel extensive cracking below their lackadaisical ground, yet I question her into another sophisticated frenzy.

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