My only thought, my Arabic one, is that having so precisely positioned such protuberances is it not spitting in the face of the divine to conceal them?
You're going to ruin it. I knew you were!
The vivacity of the visage, sweet necotine, and the twin peaks of paradise are, shall we say, hidden beneath net.
Paradise? Hidden? Oh, never! It is I, Irma! Oh, let them come! My men from the mountains!
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