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Updated: May 12, 2025
Well, let it go see how our time is slipping, slipping, slipping!" She pointed towards the half-eclipsed moon. "You are too mournful." "No. Only I dread to think of anything beyond the present. What is, we know.
And then oh, treachery of tortoise-shell! oh, the villainy of those little gold hair-pins! the fat twisted coils tumbled loose and slowly unravelled themselves, and her pink-and-white face, half-eclipsed, showed a delectable wedge between big, odourful, crinkly, ponderous masses of hair. It clung about her, a heavy cloak, all shimmering gold like the path of sunset over the June sea.
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