The city is like poetry it compresses all life all races and breeds into a small island and adds music and the accompaniment of internal engines.
E.B. White
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Why did you do all this for me he asked. I dont deserve it. Ive never done anything for you.
You have been my friend replied Charlotte. That in itself is a tremendous thing.
- E.B. White -
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The rat had no morals no conscience no scruples no consideration no decency no milk of rodent kindness no compunctions no higher feeling no friendliness no anything
- E.B. White -