If I forget thee, Bloomington, let my right hand forget her cunning; if I do not remember thee, let my tongue cleave to the roof of my mouth, if I prefer not Bloomington above my chief joy.
O daughter of Rochester, who art to be destroyed; happy shall he be, that rewardeth thee as thou hast served us.
Happy shall he be, that taketh and dasheth thy little ones against the stones.
Get the car, Sydney; I'm coming back.
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