Brown was not a blind man and had assiduously observed many a student soap opera over the years. If you were a poet in need of rhymes, you had only to turn to a certain page. There is so little abandon, so little real joyousness. '—'It's not to be thought of,' says I, thumping the table till every glass on it jingled; 'and I know a way as'll prevent it. You can’t possibly understand!” He began a confused explanation, a perplexing contradictory apology for his urgency and wrath. "A capital instrument for my purpose," thought Jack, shouldering it, "and worth all the trouble I have had in procuring it.
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