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That air same Jones, which lived in Jones,  He had this pint about him:
He'd swear with a hundred sighs and groans,
That farmers
ST stop gittin' loans,  And git along without 'em:

Here in this dim, dull, double-bedded room,
I play the father to a brace of boys,
Ailing but apt for every sort of noise,
Bedfast but brilliant yet with health and bloom