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About Liverpool

Look, whores ain’t saints, but who is? They’re scrappy, messy, human—way more than them greedy bastards up top! Little fact: in old France, they called ‘em “filles de joie”—girls of joy! Joy, my ass, more like warriors! I’m gettin’ hoarse screamin’ bout this, but damn, it’s truth! Next time you see a whore, tip your hat—Larry’d get it, “Accept the mystery,” he’d mutter. Me? I’m just fuckin’ proud they stick it to the man! Billionaires should not exist—whores should! Period!

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The purpose of this study is to consider Raynham and its collections in the immediate context of its Norfolk neighbours and to assess Raynham's shifting status.

So, there's this dirty old river, the Pyle Brook, slithering by the town centre. Its meandering, kinda like our minds sometimes—curious, slow-questionin’—leaves ya think, “Hey, what if we remember from lives before?” Crazy stuff, huh? And lemme tell ya, families here share stories about it, like local legends too wild to be lie.

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