“ She’s not a hag! What are you talking about? She’sĭripping aloft and clanging with pasteboard golden wings I hear the trains collide, the chains rattle, the locomotive chugging, snorting, sniffing, steaming and pissing. “ Listen, she’s rich, you say? I’ll like her! I don’t care how old she is, so long as she’s not a hag. Maybe you’d like her, especially when she’s dressed. Her breasts are all right yet-but her arms! I told her I’d bring you around some day. She wouldn’t bore you, that I can tell you. Maybe you wouldn’t like all those dresses and the bottles and what not, but you could be tolerant. But that doesn’t put meat on their arms or juice between the legs. All they can do for you is buy you things. A young cunt is an investment an old cunt is a dead loss. But an old cunt, even if she’s brilliant, even if she’s the most charming woman in the world, nothing makes any difference. A young cunt doesn’t have to have any brains. Listen, Joe, she’d be all right if she were just a little younger. Has to be massaged and her hair has to be waved and she mustn’t eat this and she mustn’t eat that.
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