The promise was laid bare upon his crown . Be shall not sine . Fragrance fell and escaped tither to Routres . The must of spine stacked tall in isles and aisles . The earth quaked and hungry moth hangs above to bother me . Right .
Kathy he called out, not by word but by cry . Heathcliff was right . To bash his head upon stone . To love . His throat hoarse . She met with jaded eyes on curtains that wanted for silence .
Not I . There not desteened . Twere stay that way . Ghouls all hungry to satisfy on mediocrity . Take upt the sloppy fill . I derision fair it with vogue disdain and damned foresight or damned be it same .
Tonite then and I'll from vanity gain .
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