"I think the natives saw you coming out of the lagoon, one dawn. She trailed him to his apartment and a black door that read 727 in solemn gold-tone lettering. She would not look at him, would not think of him; when her mind wavered, then she muttered to herself in the darkness so as to keep hold of her generalizations. You don’t have to have a lot of money to have your own style. At the door to the kitchen, he called out, ‘Pottiswick!’ The old man came out, shoving his chin in the air and glaring.
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