" When the doctor entered the bedroom and looked into the faces of the culprits, he laughed brokenly. Her girl, Clarice, was ten and just as pretty as a silver bell. People shrug their shoulders and call me a crazy socialist. Even then she had understood vaguely that she had touched upon some philosophy of life: that one was never lonely when alone, only in the midst of crowds. You simply can't get good oil down there, so I must husband the few drams I carry.
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