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noor

10:26 

the anti-heroine of an era of bathtub gin, organized crime, and jazz, clouded in the smoke of fired guns and cigarettes.
O hushed October morning mild,
Thy leaves have ripened to the fall;
Tomorrow’s wind, if it be wild,
Should waste them all.

— Robert Frost, “October”

@темы: with serpents for arms the lovers are the hydra of the tale

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