All the king's horses and all the king's men could not undo what was done; nor kill the strange exquisite flower that had grown up in his own lonely heart. It is no more a murder, but a duel, you understand. “Because I know for a fact that she was having sex with Gary Rothko during homecoming Freshman year and she let him pork her up the ass. ‘Might have forgiven him,’ he muttered under his breath, ‘if he hadn’t taken the babe. \" He rose and departed. Below her stretched a valley of rich meadowland, of yellow cornfields, and beyond moorland hillside glorious with purple heather and golden gorse. Otherwise, every effort has been made to remain true to the author's words and intent.
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