His name is John. I never intended it to be anything but a short story, for I had never completed even the shortest of stories unless forced to in grammar school. I had consecrated my life to His Work; and I took the primrose path. Be kind to her. All his dreams shattered in an instant. Surely our advice would have been worth having, at any rate. "Your voice seems familiar to me—and—but I'm getting a little deaf—and my eyes don't serve me quite so well as they used to do, especially by this light. ” He said. .
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