No one could decide. The best minds put their heads together.
The boy’s future looks grim. If he were to resort, as we predict,
to low practices and shady activity, if he consorts, with the
poor and malfeasant, no nurture would be obtained,
from the tit of a whore, they phrased indelicately. Rose,
stung to the quick, as it were, took a hike to Toledo, I grabbed
a rail and rode it out. Which took ten years or more. Rose
is a phone psychic now in Vegas. I’m a ball boy at Forest Lawn.
An actor, really. The sensitive sort.
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