The smoke blankets the loft of the shed. But only when you are at the roadside facing the graveyard, you envisage the navel of the shed. She covers her navel with damp attires. Dust is blown onto it by the winnowing wind of devils and the spirits of the ghosts caress these damp clothes. You can have your choice of a material which you will find definitely a few strides to the closest market called Libya.
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