They joined the rabble of aspiring James Deans in torn jeans and bomber jackets and girls with Clairol black hair smoking clove cigarettes. "Close the wicket, Austin," vociferated Ireton, in an authoritative tone. " "Give me an acquittance," said Trenchard. I have often felt before that it is only when one has nothing to say that one can write easy poetry. The clock struck half-past ten.
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