His shoulders were bent, his face was furrowed with wrinkles. “As a second job?” “Right about five months ago when Larry fell off the truck and we stopped seeing each other, Cathy took a second job. There are no funerals among the poor, only burials. Do have some tea, won’t you? If you must, go then. “Go on!” she commanded. “The doctor has asked me to give them my reasons—for shooting myself. He's neighbourly; he has a jingle for every ache and joy I've had.
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