No! we hug each other, swooning and falling about with the ecstatically comforting knowledge that — yes! it's true! — those feminists have just gone too far. That we are, what we are! Men! Real Men! Yaa-boo!

[…] Bull was in the bathroom taking his fix, clutching his old black necktie in his teeth for a tourniquet and jabbing with the needle into his woesome arm with the thousand holes;[…]

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So longe mote ye live, and alle proude,/Til crowes feet be growe under your eye