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Tuck finished his soup and salad one Sunday afternoon.
His wife left to play tennis at a posh club downtown.
My radio was playing, and Angel was on my mind. Sammy Schultz and me were stacking hay down on the Harper place.
You’re both musicians, so I’ll put it to you in musical terms. Certain people have volume problems, simply.
“‘Explosion without an objective,’ declared Miles Blundell, ‘is politics in its purest form.’”—Thomas. . .
The Michael Cohen Way: dance around the edges of sketchiness.
There's some kind of conspiracy happening here, but do you know what it is, Mr. Jones?