I might have known it. Gone were the old days where an old maid banged on an upright piano above a roaring crowd, this sound was loud enough to be heard outside the building, she thought to herself as her eardrums throbbed. But what the deuce! He was human; he was a machine only when on the hunt. Women, she had been taught, who exposed the flesh of their bodies under the eyes of man were in a special catagory of the damned. I've often seen them storming the Carnegie Hall stage. One cannot successfully argue with a drunken man. ’ No Latin? And no guns or daggers, naturally. Go and live somewhere else. . .
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