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A Panglossian Farmer (Other) by richa

The farmer to his farmhands, perched upon the stone walls of a lonely existence, would sometimes tell stories; the unfairness of winter, how his daughter had fallen on ice and spent the week in plaster. ' I did not turn to crack, or criminality, or fraud' he would say. The farmhands raised a glass to the sentiment.

NanceXToo 5-Feb-04/2:20 PM
Nice. I like this one.




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