[ It squeals like a kid pinned down on the floor for an onslaught of tickles. Tickles by gunshot. It regenerates its crushed head with as much speed as it has before, slowly stitching back together its ruined mouth that still manages to speak. But the sound comes from outside the door, the sleepers speaking on its behalf. ]
Let me just spin a little thread. I would be so happy if only you would let me spin a little thread.
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Let me just spin a little thread. I would be so happy if only you would let me spin a little thread.