They challenged my knowledge of the book, suggested that my article would inevitably be lousy and concluded that J. D. Salinger would be disgusted by what I was doing—all the while drinking on my dime.
Oh, they seem to be the picture of contentment, tripping about with their triple-sanitized trowels and weeding forks, but in reality these neatniks are a seething cauldron of aversions. They're beset by blennophobia, the fear of slime, and spend long hours plotting the annihilation of slugs and snails.
In vain he protested and claimed the protection of Louis XIV. The King at Versailles was busied with the saving of his soul and with the doctoring of his gangrened knee.
Stefan took out a brandy flask. Would you like a sunriser?
Would you like a sunriser?
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