Another day of nonsuccess would mean many disagreeable things. It was not a hopeful looking group. Or else—Else it will be impossible that I can be his friend. I wasn’t. He donned his winter coat. “Does a bear shit in the woods?” He said. Later on—well then the time may come. In the little apartment, under the gas chandelier, his inches and his stoop were certainly very effective. ’ She let out a peal of laughter. Beneath these prints, a cluster of hobnails, driven into the wall, formed certain letters, which, if properly deciphered, produced the words, "Paul Groves, cobler;" and under the name, traced in charcoal, appeared the following record of the poor fellow's fate, "Hung himsel in this rum for luv off licker;" accompanied by a graphic sketch of the unhappy suicide dangling from a beam. You don’t want to look like Bozo.
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