Having dug it out of my parents abandoned old records in the barn. I had no idea this was here. It's scratchy old vinyl of one of the key jazz recordings that initially shaped my appreciation of the whole music, and it's pure fucking heaven.
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The toothaches got worse, she dreamed of disembodied voices from whose malignance there was no appeal, the soft dusk of mirrors out of which something was about to walk, and empty rooms that waited for her. Your gynaecologist has no test for what she was pregnant with.
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