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— Marguerite Yourcenar"This city belongs to ghosts, to murderers, to sleepwalkers. Where are you, in what bed, in what dream?"
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It felt almost rude to ignore toe pretty white bed, but we just weren’t going to make it that far.
— Stephenie Meyer
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I had fun last night," I told Patch, flicking off my chin strap and handing over my helmet. "I'm officially on love with your sheets." "That the only thing you're in love with?" "Nope. Your mattress, too." Some smile crept into Patch's eyes. "My bed's an open invitation.
— Becca Fitzpatrick
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