#charity wakefield

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 (410): I’m dying. Please wear something slutty to my funeral.

(410): I’m dying. Please wear something slutty to my funeral.


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‘Mr Bingley is just what a young man ought to be. Sensible, good humoured-’’&helli‘Mr Bingley is just what a young man ought to be. Sensible, good humoured-’’&helli‘Mr Bingley is just what a young man ought to be. Sensible, good humoured-’’&helli‘Mr Bingley is just what a young man ought to be. Sensible, good humoured-’’&helli

‘Mr Bingley is just what a young man ought to be. Sensible, good humoured-’
’…Handsome, conveniently rich!’
'Do you really believe he liked me Lizzie?’
'Jane, he danced with you most of the night and stared at you for the rest of it. But I give you leave to like him, you’ve liked many a stupider person.’

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'What strange creatures men are. What do they want from us?’
'I cannot answer you.’
'Perhaps they see us not as people but as playthings, Elinor.’


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Leave me, leave me, if I distress you; leave me, hate me, forget me; but do not torture me so. Oh! hLeave me, leave me, if I distress you; leave me, hate me, forget me; but do not torture me so. Oh! hLeave me, leave me, if I distress you; leave me, hate me, forget me; but do not torture me so. Oh! hLeave me, leave me, if I distress you; leave me, hate me, forget me; but do not torture me so. Oh! hLeave me, leave me, if I distress you; leave me, hate me, forget me; but do not torture me so. Oh! hLeave me, leave me, if I distress you; leave me, hate me, forget me; but do not torture me so. Oh! h

Leave me, leave me, if I distress you; leave me, hate me, forget me; but do not torture me so. Oh! how easy for those who have no sorrow of their own to talk of exertion! Happy, happy Elinor, youcannot have an idea of what I suffer!

- Sense and Sensibility, Chapter 29

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For four months, Marianne, I have had all this hanging on my mind, without being at liberty to speak of it to a single creature. If you can think me capable of ever feeling – surely you may suppose that I have suffered now. If I had not been bound to silence, perhaps nothing could have kept me entirely – not even what I owed to my dearest friends – from openly shewing that I was veryunhappy.

- Sense and Sensibility, Chapter 37


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