A doll`s hair concealing an eggshell skull delicately throbbing, within which maggots in voluptuous unrest jostle and shrug. Oh, Eileen, my big doll, your gold hair was not more sunny than this human fur, but your head was radiant in its emptiness, a small clean room. Her warm and rosy mouth is telling lies—she would believe them if she could believe: her pretty eyes search out corruption. Oh, Eileen how kindly your silence was, and what virtue shone in the opening and shutting of your ingenious blindness.SourceThe script ran 0.007 seconds.
The script ran 0.007 seconds.
