“We haven’t. I understand you perfectly.” “But you don’t. You really don’t. See, the thing is, I like listening to you. All the things you’ve been saying about eclipses and the harmony of numbers, I like listening to all of it, but there’s another part of me, and it’s fucking poisonous, and it whispers in my ear as you’re talking. She thinks she’s better than you, Lampo. She thinks you’re a jobless cunt with a clubfoot, and she’ll walk with you on this beach. A snail-paced walk on account of your limping. She’ll mooch along ’cause you’ve paid her master, but really she knows that she’s quality
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