"Nice feathers." "Go to Hell."
Have you seen the glue?
Fuck you.
I love you.
I'd rather not love anyone.
Everyon'e cogs must fit into their place.
The clock is only waiting for its turn to stop running around the track.
Our daughter plunged her yo-yo to the ground, pulling it up again at the last moment. Our love was a yo-yo with a knotted string. Before long, there was nothing for it but the clean slice of the scissors, and the toy hit the floor.
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