dn't time to think -- All is nothing! Nothing matters! Fill your glasses -- dead man's drink. . . . . . Yet, to show his heart was not of human decency bereft, Peter paid the undertaker. He got drunk on what was left; Then he shed some tears, half-maudlin, on the grave where lay the Co., And he dri…
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dn't time to think -- All is nothing! Nothing matters! Fill your glasses -- dead man's drink. . . . . . Yet, to show his heart was not of human decency bereft, Peter paid the undertaker. He got drunk on what was left; Then he shed some tears, half-maudlin, on the grave where lay the Co., And he drifted to a township where the city failures go. Where, though haunted by the man he was, the wreck he yet might be, Or the man he might have been, or by each spectre of the three, And the dying words of Joseph, ringing through his own despair, Peter 'pulled himself together' and he started business there. But his life was very lonely, and.
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