“What are you doing?” He cried. He hadn't gambled or played the horses or hit the booze back there in little old New York…. You have to come over to my house. She gurgled. Puffy blue curtains dressed every oakstained window. The applause was uproarious at the end of the concert. More often then not he refused to reveal specifics of his own past in Greece and Rome, choosing to relate fables and stories of an impersonal nature.
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