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He greeted the corpulent boy at the register, whose tag read, \"MY NAME IS Jason\" with familiarity. Her hair touched water, becoming like the seaweed in its velvet slickness. Only he hated the words he uttered, hated the blunt honesty which forced them from his lips. “Poor Lucy!” Cathy exclaimed as she rushed in the door, umbrella sheathed. “You see, dear, one IS passionately anxious for something—what is it? One wants to be CLEAN.
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