Lost in lounging Kazonned bitterness maladroitly grossly soaked through.
Cajoled intransigent declamatory renown, submerged and settled ripe repository.
Embellished cranky lewd itinerant coy romantic tidal yearning, grim gargantuan grouchy gurgle disembodied unconcern.
Rugged rapids constant thirst evasive rapt recourse insatiable, lucid rash unshorn ebullient wayward raucous exhibition.
Clad austere informative upbeat plaid imposed distraught decorum, quartered diplomatic engagements prim and proper pristine palate.
Abandoned perhaps misplaced paradigmatic imperilled logistics, rhapsodic infidelity satchels sordid crazed acknowledgement.
Portly purpose in/animate poise discordant rest imbibed resuscitation, fate forlorn contaminant drawn spruced emboldened consummate elixir.
What a performance a ride a calling a cataclysmic egad catastrophe, tragic melancholic brinkspersonship, some of the best acting I've ever seen (Albert Finney as Geoffrey Firmin).
The question of sobriety remains unanswered cloaked in marigold misapprehension, like lathered erudite haze sorely spread in enigmatic disjunction.
Woeful discourse, sincere regret, sheer limitless august mourning, blended with reprieve albeit slightly as his cherished wife (Jacqueline Bisset as Yvonne Firmin) returns.
Yvonne once proceeded freely and then caught his wandering eye, the noble falling for the ingenue who knew nothing of his cozy cluster.
Which was forgotten some time ago in periodic stifled remonstrance, and replaced with unchecked revelling sold surpassing primordial bounds.
Moments of rich endearing tenderness and bold adventurous distraction attempt to alter his rash behaviour with delicate daring calm.
But he can't forget the affair and proceeds with reckless frank credulity.
Like a comet that's lost its light.
Constellated swath exasper.
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