My Mom inherited our house from our Grandma, otherwise they never could have afforded it, not even twenty years ago. Earles would permit. Why not? Quite willing. A thickly-set, sandy young man, with an unwholesome complexion and grease-smooth hair, had entered the room. “We are the music and you are the instrument,” she said; “we are verse and you are prose. I’ve told you that practically already.
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