So dry. I had to cry. What a text! People. Peoples stories. I wonder again and when I wake up I think again. What was it. Between us. What did I do. What did you do. You, solitary skinbag of bones. Shivering. Me. Shell, shelling, some thing delicious once you tasted it you would never stop. It was too late. Late afternoon. Westerbork was waiting. Something covered in glass. A greenhouse, freshly erected. You galloped the orange juice and of you went. In a whimp. For the hunt. Our children were waiting, hungry.
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