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I unusually watched television last night.
Opera "Tosca" of Puccini was broadcasted in the middle of the night.
I examined it in a dictionary.
Mahler seems to have described it as "a trashy work".
I looked in "the situation of the woman".
Then I did not understand what I did.
I thought that "I might understand nothing" like that.
The delicate sensibilities things torment me.
I want a durable teacup.

I am impatient if I drink the vegetable soup of the wing.