If You're Eepy, She's Eepy. Let Her In.

Once upon a noontime sunny, while I pondered something funny, written in a quaint and curious book of a romantic strain — while I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping, as of some one gently rapping, rapping at my window pane. “’Tis the breezy trees,” I muttered, “tapping at my window pane, only this, the wind's refrain.”
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