Ian said, “I came across my jug. Remember when we were trying to make it to the White House? Al, we have to try once more. Honest to god, I can’t go on like this. I can’t stand to be a failure at what we agreed was the most important thing in our lives.” Panting, he mopped at his forehead with his handkerchief, his hands trembling. “I don’t even have my jug any more,” Al said presently. “You must. Well, we could each record our parts separately on my jug and then synthesize them on one tape, and present that to the White House. This trapped feeling, I don’t know if I can go on living with it.
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