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Updated: June 17, 2025
He stared at me, but asked no questions. We started. Mr. talked, talked, talked as is his wont. I said nothing; I heard nothing. At the end of a mile, Mr. said "Mark, are you sick? I never saw a man look so haggard and worn and absent-minded. Say something, do!" Drearily, without enthusiasm, I said: "Punch brothers, punch with care! Punch in the presence of the passenjare!"
He sat in the dim stalls by Henry's side, and Henry could hear him murmuring softly and endlessly: 'Punch, brothers, punch with care Punch in the presence of the passenjare! The scene was imagined to represent a studio, and Jane Map, as Enid Anstruther, was posing on the model's throne. 'Jane, Mr. Pilgrim hissed out, 'you pose for all the world like an artist's model!
"A buff trip slip for a six-cent fare, a pink trip slip for a three-cent fare, punch in the presence of the passenjare." Rev. Mr. stood there, very grave, full of concern, apparently, and looked long at me; then he said: "Mark, there is something about this that I cannot understand.
'Clack-clack clack, a blue trip slip, clack-clack-clack, for an eight-cent fare; clack-clack-clack, a buff trip slip, clack clack-clack, for a six-cent fare, and so on, and so on, and so on punch in the presence of the passenjare! Sleep? Not a single wink! I was almost a lunatic when I got to Boston. Don't ask me about the funeral.
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