THE PLASTIC AGE
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his coat collar. “Gettin’ cold. Fall’s here. Nope, not the harem. My old lady.”
Hugh looked at him bewildered. He was finding Carl more and more a conundrum. He consistently called his mother his old lady, insisted that she was a damned nuisance—and wrote to her every night. Hugh was writing to his mother only twice a week. It was very confusing. ...
