He has often told me that if he could play sober, he would go to America and reap a fortune. Any man might have endeavoured to protect himself in this fashion, a man with no one to care, with an unnameable terror at the thought (as if it mattered!) of being buried in alien earth, far from the familiar places he loved. Awful shapes seemed to flit by, borne on the wings of the tempest, animating and directing its fury. I do not wish to blow off a head, you understand. “And you?” “Same thing.
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