"Well, good night, Mr. " "Oh, yes I will. Through fire and water, through penury and pestilence, your hand will always be on his shoulder. “I really do not believe,” he announced with satisfaction, “that any one would recognize me. An old woman took her in. His baggy shorts sagged over knobby knees that tapered into decrepit Reebok sneakers. Only a son’s another story. The Night-Cellar XVIII.
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