As he looked up at the massive tower, the clock tolled forth the hour of midnight. He looked like an animated skeleton that someone had hung a smelly 105 brown beard upon. Ray Plote was most certainly feeling restless, what if he had left the house for the evening? She needed to eat. He is extremely old—forty at least—and he has a belly excessively fat. Oh, the scent of the flowers that day, the delicious quiet, the swallows that dived before us in the river. Voilà tout.
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