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| Emote grunts, the soft dawn ing waves of wispish dust which flickers through the heated desert air like falling feathers in a writing mass of torrential windy whipiness | |
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| You are the Salubrious, effervescent man? | |
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| pemote slowly narrows his eyes into thin slits which darken in intensity as the wrinkling flesh of his brow curles down into an angry visage of pure dislike and anger all of which lock upon you. | |
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| I'm not sure I'm seeing what you think I'm seeing in you.... | |
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