” The girl on the lounge drew a long sobbing breath. The sounds of the seashore infiltrated her dreams as she floated in heavenly bliss of sleep. ‘We’ll cross that bridge if and when we come to it. It is what I have wanted, what I have meant all along. In Wych Street Owen Wood did dwell; A carpenter he was by trade, And money, I believe, he made. She was very excited. Old London Bridge.
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