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I sleep a lot and read St
Thomas
Or The Death of God (that's a Protestant book)
To the right the bay as if molten tin,

When a felon's not engaged in his employment,
Or maturing his felonious little plans,
His capacity for innocent
Is just as great as any honest man's

Mrs. Coley’s three-flat brick
Isn’t here any more.
All done with seeing her fat little form
Burst out of the basement door;