Out from behind a bust of King Olaf carved in Etruscan marble scurried a boy holding a stick high aloft his head, wobbling, he proceeded up the sideways scampering, moving in and out of traffic hurriedly. ‘…stop that boy, he has my wallet…’ yelled a man with a port-wine birthmark on his face. A man with an Angel kiss birthmark hollered in reply ‘…salmon patches and stork bites, egad the boy’s a veritable sickbay…’.
Benavente Giosuè, hat in hand, said ‘…for the love of it, the boy’s a miracle…’. Among those assembled, some standing single-file, others standing in twos, it was the man standing on the shoulders of a giant who had the best view of the scampering boy.
Benavente Giosuè, hat in hand, said ‘…for the love of it, the boy’s a miracle…’. Among those assembled, some standing single-file, others standing in twos, it was the man standing on the shoulders of a giant who had the best view of the scampering boy.
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