For such of us as pretend to be wise—and we are but fools in a lesser degree—we know that humanity moves onward only by the impellant of fine dreams. He sat on the bed, throwing aside his hat. If only he had known it, sympathy was almost entirely with him. Take my advice. But how long would she last, withering away to a desiccated pile of skin and bone? Round and round she would go. It was a gray day in the spring of 1910. My Mom and Dad were on the brink of divorce, what else is new, they still are.
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