I expect Mr. “Can’t you SEE how things are?” she said. She had found it in 1988, the year of the stock market crash. She always dawdled, so it was easy. Then she stepped back into the empty room and stood for a moment looking down upon the scattered fragments of her last canvas. They had much to talk about, or rather Miss Prudence had. Don't you see Mr. You keep on coming truer, after you have seemed to come altogether true.
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