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miss jane and the dover petals. tell me why, you lather your groin with hysteria and magnesium. scrub and scrub. till your flesh bleeds a spasm of bees. a swarm of the festive crawls beneath the fundamental xylophone menage. you despise god. you were right. tell me more. from where do you milk the ketchup? this is a prologue to the third layer anatomy of principles and music. lace-lover and the sexism, hand in hand. give me three and a half gallons of blood.