“No,” she answered. 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. The world isn't real yet; she hasn't comparisons by which to govern her acts. "Jack is just gone back to the Condemned Hold. The shouts of indignation—the frightful yells now raised baffle description.
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