If
you will pardon my temporary digressions into the realm of natural
history, we will now return to the main subject, which was your
tooth.
The moment the muscular young man starts up his motor and gives
the canary its music cue and begins pawing over his tool
collection to pick out a good sharp one, you recover. All of a
sudden you feel fine, and so does the tooth. Neither one of you
ever felt better. The fox terrier must have killed the woodchuck
and then committed suicide. You are about to mention this double
tragedy and beg the young man's pardon for causing him any trouble
and excuse yourself and go away, but just then he quits feeling of
his biceps and suddenly seizes you by your features and undoes them.
If you are where you can catch a glimpse of yourself in a mirror
you will immediately note how much the human face divine can be
made to look like an old-fashioned red brick Colonial fire place.
There are likely to be several things you would like to talk about.
You are full of thoughts seeking utterance. For one thing you want
to tell him you don't think the brand of soap he uses on his hands
is going to agree with you at all.
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