The cucumber, yes, the obvious choice. But oceans and syllables and incredulous clairvoyance. Now whiskey sunk and chewing daggers. Pillows a fresh fortress and shut out shut up stomp silly the sun. There is a dessert someplace in this. Conjured and conjectured and contemplated the complicated seeing of the saw. Salt sprinkled and the sting. No solution for such spectacular lack of luck.

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