It's mighty lonesome down there for a man bred to cities. “We are the music and you are the instrument,” she said; “we are verse and you are prose. And as these things should always be treated as matters of business, I'll just draw up a memorandum of our arrangement. She had thought to wear it now, since she must look more the demoiselle. I’ll be waiting for you outside. I had a perfect shoal of callers. The sky was dripping a wet, slow rain that had forced the city’s inhabitants into taxicabs and dingy cafeterias, the day wholly ruined for all except the insane schizophrenics and her. The silence grew unbearable, so she asked, \"What is your surname, John?\" \"My surname? You mean my last name?\" \"Yes.
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