It is better as it is. 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. 238 < 30 > IN BED John drove her home after school nearly every day. But he has never been near her—never. The twins were a hard delivery, a C-Section. Not even, it seemed, this interfering monsieur le major. Farhat who was stranded on a desolate roadside until one fateful day he passed the traveling caravan of the beautiful princess Anoush. ‘Tell me, my boy. \"I'd like some popcorn. You have not forgotten——” “I have forgotten nothing?” he answered, enigmatically. He had not taken many steps when he perceived Quilt Arnold in the upper gallery, with a lamp in his hand. All the rest of his existence was subordinate to this pursuit; he lived for it, worked for it, kept himself in training for it. Martin’s crush. Wood, sharply. Retracing his steps, he arrived, without further accident, at the eastern platform of the starling.
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