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. Had it not been for the Plague, she might have had her own babies. “In all fairness,” she thought to herself as she coaxed his mouth toward her left nipple. ” She laughed heartily, and became as suddenly grave. He listened.
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