The door closed upon her, and he moved reluctantly away. One’s got to be a better man than one’s father, or what is the good of successive generations? Life is rebellion, or nothing. 8 or 1. She leaned back in the corner of the cab with a little sigh of relief. The taste of his sweat was intoxicating, like sweet brandy, like blood. We smirk, and we’re a bit—furtive. You are always doing something for nothing, and that is why I love you.
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