Quote:
Originally Posted by atisketatasket
She is going to lower the paper to nose level and give you a Reproving Glare over the top of her glasses, you know.
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I'll duck behind my cushion...
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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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