in the next room, her youngest sister was born. By now her twinkling childhood has been gone, and she has to take care for someone else. Aging more, she suddenly feels herself as the old-fashioned person. Even her garden has neither beautiful flowers nor guest in vigor. The only remainder is an old-fashioned lint. It still sticks to her in its old and stubborn shape. This is a story about the heroine who keeps making romantic imagination, and the lint who comes to my garden e...
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in the next room, her youngest sister was born. By now her twinkling childhood has been gone, and she has to take care for someone else. Aging more, she suddenly feels herself as the old-fashioned person. Even her garden has neither beautiful flowers nor guest in vigor. The only remainder is an old-fashioned lint. It still sticks to her in its old and stubborn shape. This is a story about the heroine who keeps making romantic imagination, and the lint who comes to my garden everyday.
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