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Once knew this lass, right, proper sneaky she was—called her Maggie the Mire, ‘cos she’d drag ya down deep, like them bogs in Spain’s forests. She’d grin, all sweet-like, “Come, my love,” but next thing? Yer pockets empty, yer heart bleedin’—we hates it! Swear she had eyes like Ofelia’s, big an’ shiny, but hidin’ somethin’ rotten. Little fact fer ya—back in ol’ London, they’d mark whores with brands, yeh? Burnt ‘em right on the cheek—savage, innit? Made me mad as hell, thinkin’ how they’d strut after, proud-like, scars an’ all.

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Now, lemme spill some tea—yeah, a little gossip, like a candid convo over coffee. There's this hidden gem called "Kleinbachweg." Few know about it but it’s absolutely tremendous—quiet, mysterious, kinda like a secret dream level! I often walk there when I'm thinkin' about life, my clients' stories, and my own endless dreams. Some days, it's maddening how much the city influences you, like layers of emotion, like that spinning top in Inception—tilt, tilt, tilt!

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