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“Hey, hey, out of my way!” shouted a driver from the seat of his coach as he nearly ran into two women standing in the middle of the busiest street in Glupsk, both carrying…
Hey, women, spotted with typhus and riddled with rakes of fingers
Across autumn heads of woe,
Are you fruitful? Do you multiply? How many times each?
In whorehouses? On floors?
In the stable? In…