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And she had such qualms about her work that she kept doing it until she got replaced by someone cheaper. Oh, mercy!
So she paced her three bedroom house -- bought with her novel's advance -- and felt so curiously lonely. Oh, angels of heaven!
No comfort, those tedious children, who lived on hamburger, popcorn, and oranges. Oh, fiends!
Then enter Salon, whose soul-starved readers hunger for such hand-wringing. Oh, plebs!
And finally our successfull writer can return to her savory meal. Oh, salvation!