(((Growly)))
I think if my T subjected me to all those conflicting rules I'd tell him to feck off with himself and his conditional emails.
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'...
At poor peace I sing
To you strangers (though song
Is a burning and crested act,
The fire of birds in
The world's turning wood,
For my sawn, splay sounds,)
...'
Dylan Thomas, Author's Prologue
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