"Now, Sir, I'll trouble you for your coat. Wood wound it up by a description of the drenching he had undergone at the Mint pump, the other could hold out no longer, but, leaning back in his chair, gave free scope to his merriment. If I were to marry you now I should feel a dependent being all my life—a sort of parasitical creature without blood or muscle. They joined the rabble of aspiring James Deans in torn jeans and bomber jackets and girls with Clairol black hair smoking clove cigarettes.
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