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Jagged Edge of Samba Ray

The jagged edge of the samba ray chortles on down the pike, leaving wee Willie Plonquette only to stare obliquely.

His metered toggle cup had been scissor whipped into a nuanced nocturnal submission.

So much for crescent slivers, even on a good day.

Now, sayeth the Elfin spirit, we can join the syrup beasts and bristle busily while passing the Orange Sanctuary Palace.

All in return for a good night’s sleep and a mayoral greeting in Sanskrit Royale.

A Kepleresque garden torment reduces the best of us to millet stew. Grasping this burlap lychee chronology is next on anyone’s list of challenge shoals.

And yet to reenact the massive corollary mound under these conditions is almost mandatory. For, in any case, such rapt christenings of ribbon twists keep the pressure on all of us.