XVIII

      "There was something I did!"

      He was vexed. Why wouldn't he be? Who asked her? She was nauseating to him. He didn't want up to refleshen the thoughts few days ago had lent him. He wasn't in the mood to trail that tarred track. He was in no mood of such stance. He was quite in a remote setting. A sewn setting of his imagination. He didn't want to nurse the odds of what the annoying Nymph had said. Why would she even talk to him? Didn't she has an idea of the hibernated hatred his hoisted heart had hurled at her?

       He didn't know whether of not the Nymph was sane. Like her sanity was in the prime of distinction. Probably she was a clone of actions and thoughts. Or she was a mirage of realism. He had no idea what to think. She seemed not to understand the hatred he was nursing for her. The hatred wielded in the thorax of his ire. His urge to want to kill he

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