The Villa part by BigWord


My Collection Of Stories about the supernatural

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									The Villa –Part 2

Norn "Starting the same time, I felt a stunning and
heartbreaking. God knows why my intelligence and my
musings on the curtain fell. Hours does not do well to
emphasize that the heart of a lion but got Padre.
Suite too poor, beaten subject, which was running my
soul. Where was the condition of the subjects of the
abundance and delicately fashioned flair scratch
would take the pot. Imagine if a bird flies in the sky
where the star was created and now it's depressing!
The Karun poverty! But what are the reasons? What is
the punishment for misbehavior. Another name for the
work world. Why do not we get the answer, the heart
does not have any patience, even to death, has to
answer the why. After I consulted a doctor. He
generally sticks like doctors - advised to air. It is
also possible to come to my intelligence that sticks
Neonatal cold - air has been cooled by the fire of
poetry. A six-month rotating continuously - it kept
flying. Many fascinating views, but they do not explain
poetic soul he wished that the cup may overflow and
silent imagery began Chine itself. I did not get your
lost red. Now I was with life. Looks like dry desert
where no life now I do not know, no refreshment, not
interested. Always at heart a disappointment - C
remains grim and heart absentminded fails. The
question arises whether, in the heart of the four-day
wonder moonlight and darkness came over with? Bear
from his company, Hemlines face of hate, I was lying in
an obscure corner was the days of my life. Being on
the tops of the trees, the sweet melody of the singing
bird can live in a cage? It is possible that the grain
eating, drinking water, but there is a difference in her
life and death.
So I'm dead, this condition is too stupid to understand
her alive. After I killed a day gave her some daily
papers. Publish the chaos in the country, suffered a
panic. At that moment I realized some of its
popularity. It was the common cry, the poetry of the
world's river craft sank into trouble. Dislocated
poetry party. Letter - magazines in my biography I
read all published his invention of the editors - had to
coax intelligence. Neither I nor the son of a rich silver
spoon I had taken Fakir excluding the cushion. His
imagination was seized on reality. A boss of my
friends, who claimed intimacy with me, drink me - had
made love to feed. Whenever he met me, they see my
eyes red from drunk counteracted. Later in this
article notwithstanding the bad habit of mine, he was
very clean from the stern heartedness - scrawny man
could say such a fun lion. Nevertheless surprising
that they Shrine dare say the wrong thing.

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