Amo uscire verso la fine di settembre fra le more grasse, troppo mature, ghiacciate, nere per mangiare le more per la prima colazione, i gambi molto spinosi, una pena che guadagnano per conoscere l'arte nera di mora-fare; e mentre mi levo in piedi fra loro che alzano i gambi alla mia bocca, le bacche pi mature cadono quasi unbidden alla mia linguetta, come le parole a volte, determinate parole particolari come resistenze o squinched, grumi molto-indicati da lettere e un-one-syllabled, che comprimo, squinch aperto e lo splurge bene nel silenzioso, startled, lingua ghiacciata e nera della mora -- mangiando verso la fine di settembre.
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