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She said, after a period generator of uncertainty, several conclusions were beginning to emerge. In simple terms, she said, there wasn't the same attraction between masses. And I got the feeling, generator you didn't really give a stuff. Your parents seemed happier and as long as you had your liquorice ice cream things were OK. It didn't matter to you things were getting worse for everybody else. We weren't happy together but we lived in a state of easy, mild contentment. We shared everything except the stupid, fucking secret hanging round your neck. Meanwhile, maybe not tomorrow, generator maybe not next year, maybe not even in a decade from now … but one day: the planet would fall apart. Once, we ran out of liquorice ice cream. You headed out into the city, dumbbells in your backpack, hoping the 24 hour convenience store would not disappoint you.
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