F. He looked like an animated skeleton that someone had hung a smelly 105 brown beard upon. But I will go. Believe me, the bitterness of it has almost departed, crushed out of me together with much of the weariness and sorrow I brought with me here by the nameless glory of these lonely months. It was his redemption, his ticket out of hell—that blue-serge coat. It began to rain, a cold sweat of precipitation that was more sickly than refreshing.
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