He talked in the same style, and pretty nearly in the same language; laughed in the same manner, and coughed, or sneezed at the same time. ‘That’s better,’ said Gerald, and let her go. Joe, my foster dad, was a heroin and booze addict. Its architecture was richly ornamental, and resembled the style of a triumphal entrance to a capital, rather than a dungeon having battlements and hexagonal towers, and being adorned on the western side with a triple range of pilasters of the Tuscan order, amid the intercolumniations of which were niches embellished with statues. “You left the TV on when you fell asleep in the living room, so I turned it off.
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