‘The gatehouse? But why must you move him at all?’ ‘Listen, missie. “Oh, dammit!” he remarked, “dammit!” with great bitterness as he faced it. It’s a sort of blacklegging to want to have a life of one’s own. The dream flowers and is harvested, and we are left by the wayside, having served our singular purpose in the scheme of progress: as the orange is tossed aside when sucked of its ruddy juice. elizabethbailey. She sat drawn together in her chair in the corner of the box, at a loss what to say or do—afraid, curious, perplexed.
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