At Morningside Park I feel as though all my growing up was presently to stop, as though I was being shut in from the light of life, and, as they say in botany, etiolated. Then for a time she sat very still. ‘Ain’t enough as my bed is took, my sheets all bloodied, and my gin took for to waste on that fellow’s wound. The sky was cloudless, effulgent blue. “Ask me nothing. There it is. ” “I haven’t told any one the amount,” he went on.
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