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"All life is a muddle, and we are all muddlers, more or less. ‘Is it worth it?’ he asked at last. ’ Then memory hit and he stared at his friend. He fondled her naked breasts with his fingers, then his mouth. He did not particularly care. " This placard attracted universal attention. I bound him up good and tight, stuffed his mouth with a length of rope, taped it shut. ‘There was a priest, the father confessor, you understand. His voice when he spoke was almost fiercely assertive, but there was an undernote of nervousness. To-morrow I shall come and talk to you again—of other things.
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