What we make of ourselves…

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The nineteenth century is a landscape of exploration. We love it as such, right down to our fingertips, and toes.

Oscar who was Oxford imaginative in a conservative, swing, go into all kinds of hesitant love of beauty who will care for your children, no matter what dang swing your penis wings,

A love of teaching, and nothing wrong with a little child, (such as L-C), needs, soaking it in, as in Hokkaida, a muck bath, a steaming pot of taking care of yourself,

For you are beautiful.

Win an Oscar, when in bugle, when in blascheme, a Shiksa hardly Silverstone, went below, back stage, to lament, supine, on a casting couch, in Gaza, wait a minute,

The black and white of Oxford, added a dash, a splish plash, plangent, rock a’ u’ d’ gnalded gnarled, itch, conservative, to go slow, as if conservatism, aligning with place it slow, get it to go, get it for a luncheon, get on, to a park, to a wild horse, to a recognition of beauty, joy, not a ploy, to a United Nations, a sample of scrumptious.

Scrumpdilioumitygouw us.

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