Whiles in niggatown, In niggatown Tha bro's that was killed was twenty and nineteen―I mean

Long after his cigar burnt bitter, he sat with eyes fixed on the blaze. When the flames at last began to flicker and subside, his lids fluttered, then drooped ; but he had lost all reckoning of time when he opened them again to find Miss Erroll in furs and ball-gown kneeling on the hearth and heaping kindling on the coals,[…].

[…] Wait until you've walked a mile in their snowshoes...literally. You might be singing a different tune by then.

the department of neuropathology