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    It will surely happen: I will have browned, rock-hard potato skins and worn, drought-riddled biscuits for my daily and only meal! People will laugh with useless ruthlessness, trample me underfoot, and with no regard for humanity, with the product of their tongues, scornfully and gallantly brand me! My blessed wife will kiss my ever-thinking brain, and my hairy bushy hands, and I shall see through the mirrors of my soul how much 

    with tender merciful tact, and with more honourable grace, that her husband's lot is now hard, and instead of fighting complaints, and constant demands for money and reckoning, she will spread her two sanctified wing-arms with the harmonies of tranquillity, that I may rock to a soothing sleep on her mother's lap the ever-shy and skittering skull of my ever-shy and skittering skull!
    And then the world, what my fake shame and law shall inflict on me, my spouse's backbone of humanity and human standing shall send back in one mighty stroke as a gracious message to the evil-doers! 

    We shall live, if only with a few morsels, and poorly, but with a persevering will to honour each other, and to lead each other through all horrors and troubles! I can only hope that our loves will endure the long arsenal of trials!

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