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And imprinting a kiss upon his mother's cold lips, he left the room. She visualized him as in a policeman’s uniform and quite impassive. ‘Merely making a useful contact. At the cost of quite a number of torn drafts she succeeded in evolving this: “DEAR MR. You don’t want to look like Bozo. Who but you would have dreamed of giving the boy such a name? Why, it's the name of a river, not a Christian.

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