" "Where's Mr. C below. ” He sat for a moment, absorbing. A young man was playing the banjo. And you talk like that! What the devil have you been up to, to land in this bog?" It was a cast at random. It probably had its own repulsive oubliette in the bottom, where tiny princesses could fall and break their necks. The sidewalk resonated with the pounding of cold rain by the time she left the building. Once she had asked him: "Are you my father?" He had answered: "I am. That's how I finally got wind of it.
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