Idleness is the key of beggary, Jack. The dream flowers and is harvested, and we are left by the wayside, having served our singular purpose in the scheme of progress: as the orange is tossed aside when sucked of its ruddy juice. “I’m inclined to think, Stanley, myself that as a matter of fact it was the expurgated Romeo and Juliet did the mischief. I fight. ” Sir John coughed. I have never been wrong about the sex of an unborn child.
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