 White lights decorate the trees outside, my mother remembers Christmases past. My daughter bakes her pumpkin cookies, and the kitchen smells like nutmeg and home.
White lights decorate the trees outside, my mother remembers Christmases past. My daughter bakes her pumpkin cookies, and the kitchen smells like nutmeg and home.
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Not a quarter, not a whole... just somewhere in between.
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