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... l within the tall red tiled walls, looking at that strongly fragrant tree green and lush, she sighs her faint sorrows and clear worries, what is she waiting for? Repeating this over and over again, she self-stops, self-asks, self-sighs, the longer she stays in the palace, the more indistinguishable the entanglement becomes, increasingly coiled, virtually like a sticky spider web, coated with a body of foulness, and even carries the pain of rotting heart, eroding bones.

“The white gull [a ...

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