It was on a lovely spring morning that she was told to smell the fresh moral tree when you draw into it. It's so beautiful. It was like an association of a high school picnic he'd gone to. But somewhere there was a lack, a forgotten.
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Then he thought why he was there. When and where you've gone, what's the rate. Where was that really? This bench that sits on, this blooming flowers, these white smocked men and women.
Like when they owned the bank that he didn't know when he had put his hands? How did it come from more than one spring? Wasn't it just winter? She even thought, thought, didn't even think.
He was asking so many questions. For 15 years he did not know anything and could only learn by asking questions that forgotten. So we're in the clinic for a short-term or even a very short-term acceptance.
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And she forgot what she was thinking. 'Cause she never remembered.
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