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Angel

It’s funny how similar the pattern of love is to insanity remarks the Merovingian. I agree; Yet I concur faith in that insanity.
That moment in which one understands what Marvin means when he says “She smells like angels ought to smell.” Or when you can smell her hair and understand what Poets have been writing for ages. Or when you watch her sleep and know how a mother feels for her baby.
A Dame to Live for… A Dame to Die for… A Dame to kill for… A Dame to be Killed for.
Dame… Damn.

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