“There was an old lady who lived in a shoe. She had so many children her uterus fell out”....."She hauled it around in a cart. When it was time to give birth, she just wrung the kid out with her hands."
Her hands were immaculate exquisite and the only thing visible outside her burqa. Those hands were both mysterious and legendary and her offspring increased every year.
She lived alone, her third husband had self immolated in the village square many years prior.
Her children had hence displayed a dazzling array, a potpourri of characteristics, height, disposition, hair colour.
She was an author of sorts and on those rare occurrences where the children were out and about via an avalanche of surrupticious glances one hundred new stories would give birth....
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