What glamour? What a luminous show? Clean air; sharp and cold, stinging like an amorous bee, flapping across his freckled face. Dancing dew drops on the glistening green leaves, reflecting the
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Pale sun for days, misty mornings, shivering nights, warm cups of tea, coughing of the old, shrilly cackle of cottony new born, chilly winds cutting through one's soul,a lingering sadness of the year
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those miasma of alphabets, the dark ink staring at you, that moment of intense jubilation and brooding loathsomeness, the sparkle of ideas and the intoxication of lyricism, the flutter of teases, the
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