In which we shed fifteen years and whine our heads off.
It's raining again.
I know it's good for farmers,
but I think it sucks.
I know it's good for farmers,
but I think it sucks.
"I went there uncertainly, for it was foreign ground and there was a tiny, priggish, warning voice in my ear which . . . told me it was seemly to hold back. But I was in search of love in those days, and I went full of curiosity and the faint, unrecognized apprehension that here, at last, I should find that low door in the wall . . . which opened on an enclosed and enchanted garden . . ." - Evelyn Waugh, Brideshead Revisited
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