Tear the coupon out of the newspaper.
Where's the picture of my mother-in-law? he barks in midtale, and a bartender hustles off to look for it.
Where's the picture of my mother-in-law?
Although Wodicka turns up a provocative thought here and there, this musing, typical of Burt’s grief-laden vaporousness, serves also to illustrate the artless, wordy and underarticulated writing that makes “All Shall Be Well” such a Black Death of a chore to read.
Dav. […] And after that I met the boy of Chremes With fishes, and an obolus of herbs.
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