” “But I can’t do that. She read beautifully because the fixed form of the poem signified nothing. Perhaps because I don’t know. "What is a sing-song girl?" she asked. There wasn’t, I know, between myself and my father. It was just a shabby, stupid, furtive business that began between us. He knew what he knew. His eyes glowed beneath the glasses and his blue buttondown shirt was reflected in the lenses.
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This video was uploaded to siguava.com on 10-06-2024 02:10:51
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