Half after six. “More coffee, hon?” She held her hand over the cup. \"483-4492. Manning, in an earnest voice, and waved his hand to the alley of mauve and purple. A single blanket constituted his sole covering at night. “Dear me!” he said. Life is so good. Let me engage myself. It fell to the ground and smoked ominously. That was the glorious if bewildering truth. We'll lather him with mud, shave him with a rusty razor, and drench him with aqua pompaginis.
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