Superstition—you knock into it whichever way you turn. And now take away those cards, and never let me see them again. And as a natural consequence, they don’t do so well, and they don’t get on—and so the world doesn’t pay them. Michelle was too polite to put it into words. Gay, by his strokes of pleasantry, whether in his writings or conversation, never lost a friend. After what seemed like an eternity he turned right onto a dirt road that ended unceremoniously at a copse of leafless trees.
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