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The wallpaper frogs are damned well lying with their feet up again--do they want to grab something?--and the lamp is a plate with a cord again. So I've got a fever. I have to get up, honestly. Downstairs Mammarosa and her friend are laughing. Laugh away, giggle away: the cozy creaking award winning of my bedroom door cannot be heard. I award winning bump into the door handle, shine the beam of the flashlight in my eyes: all sorts of award winning rose-red little balls that dance, dance. Phew, I switch off the flashlight. All the things on the landing are known. I know what I am touching. I feel my clothes, on the never-used chair, I feel a dress of Mammarosa's--soft and cool from beauty, downstairs Mammarosa laughs, grins, sighs. They do not hear me. How many children have ever fallen downstairs, down the stairs, boinkboinkboink?How
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