Excerpt from John Henry
I'm sitting on the sofa with one mitt lying carelessly on the family album and the other bunched around a cane, when my lady friend floats into the arena.
There's a short-arm clinch, a break-away, and we're back in our corners.
Oh, John Henry! Says my lady friend, giving her real hair a couple of taps and glancing out in the dining room to see if mother was rubbering.
I tell you, boys, it's aces when your lady friend does that after a short clinch. There's nothing to it.
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