Well-balanced, sane, wasn’t I? You never heard anyone call me a madman? I’m pretty near being one now, and it’s her fault. You know you don’t mean it. I feel a mixture of beast and uncle. 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. And that brought them to vegetarianism and teetotalism, and the young man in the orange tie and Mrs.
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