‘For God’s sake, let go my hand,’ he begged. An extra pair of gym clothes materialized within fractions of a second. So he made merry at the dinner table, told comic stories, and was astonished at the readiness with which she grasped the comic side of life. “Come,” he said, “this is capital, capital. ” Her urge to drink deeply of his blood was growing insane, ignited by what he had already donated. His job as a painter was wearing him down acutely as he aged.
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