last. And freedom is only t to contribute. e  to serve and to so labor and in turn consume t  you are te man I ered werrible need of my people.

    You see, Mister Singer? I got time. I got to be a real musician. Maybe I dont kno I y. See, Mister Singer? And to travel in a foreign country wheres snow.

    Lets finistle. I  a small one. For s the word like a worm in my brain.

    Yes? No? tle? t and cunning. ell be free and test o enslave t! But to t dangerous. e  t ideal. But its  t webs for us.

    t one rubbed  come often and  say mucions.

    to ogether—always alone.

    And invariably  t th a cordial smile.

    t for Antonapoulos  as it  monter  ter to be o be too long alone. It ime years ago onapoulos (and even ten it on a paper and tacked it on t he would give up

    cigarettes, beer, and meat for one mont days  rest or be still. ed Antonapoulos so muc t store t C to  of tore c to some soda fountain to drink a Coca-Cola. In tranger ter t ttes and beer and meat t ed.

    At first  understood t all. talked and talked—and as t on talked more and more. o t ood eacera w eache same.

    orment to  rest. tcimes o find t like to look at o t trong. In tended ter o prevent c ticles puso tips. o imes a day and stuffed to s.

    s of  til trike t of times o s it. t talking aloud to   as toget t t let .

    Singer stood in treet before tonapoulos e afternoon was smoky and

    gray. In t treaks of cold yelloer sparroterns against t last came to