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Agairn you have nailed the baby to the headboard, while we, still lounging in our flannels, hence the description flanneleur, a made up word for one who wanders about the house in his flannel pyjamas, scrape enquiringly around our mouth for the missing spoonfuls of breakfast, breakfast that refused to go down, breakfast that no matter how hard he tried, could not be swallowed, thereby raising the alarm agairn for a third cup of coffee, which is entirely understandable as he drinks decaf, which any fool can tell you contains a small percentage of caffeine, necessitating consuming quantities of decaf to get to any semblance of a caffeine reprieve from reality.

In other words, I love as much as I understood, me uneducated in the romance languages. The gist is the universal story of the last good man, a story that I know, all too well.

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