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The essay I had to read was called, An Essay on Criticism by Alexander Pope. The first challenge was that the essay was, in fact, a very long poem in heroic couplets. If something is called an essay, it should be an essay.
Maureen Johnson
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Maureen Johnson
Age: 51
Born: 1973
Born: February 16
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Philadelphia
Pennsylvania
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Just then, my phone started ringing. The ring must have been damaged by the water as well, so now it had a high, keening note - kind of the sound I imagine a mermaid might make if you punched her in the face.
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I like you because you were mad. And you're pretty. And pretty sane for a mad person.
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Also, when on a campaign to convince a stranger that you aren't a few fries short of a Happy Meal, throwing around phrases like tangentially Swedish is not the best way to go.
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A pause while my mother made high-pitched sisterly devotions of gratitude.
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I'm done. I'm going to go to bed and read important books about theater. It would would be easier if you just said porn, Scarlett said. No idea what you're talking about. But knock first if you need me.
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One question, I said. Did you tell me all that because you think I'm going to die? No, he said. It's because you're doing something brave, and I felt I should too. I'll take that as a yes, I said.
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She was standing in the airport of Copenhagen, staring at a doorway, trying to figure out if it was (a) a bathroom and (b) what kind of bathroom it was. The door merely said H. Was she an H? Was H hers? It could just as easily be his. Or Helicopter Room: Not a Bathroom at All
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Money is for doing things, my love. Don't sit on it like a hen sits on an egg. It doesn't hatch. I should know. I've made enough of it.
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