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Dear Bloss,

I dreamt about you last night. Looking for you in a row of houses. Under a washing basket, in loamy soil were hidden pups I dug up with anxious fingers - mahogany, blue and some tawnies. And somebody asked another, 'Why don't you keep the wood in here?'

The man from France said he knew a dog raised on Sauvignon.

It bothered both of us.

So much love,
Me
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