That’s why I come to tell you. . Lucy kicked her side, then her wounded leg, dislodging her. Just as Hogarth got to the door, the turnkey stopped him. I can’t even make myself care. “We can,” he said, “and we will. Why shouldn’t we be martyrs? There’s nothing else for most of us, anyhow. The dream flowers and is harvested, and we are left by the wayside, having served our singular purpose in the scheme of progress: as the orange is tossed aside when sucked of its ruddy juice.
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