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Show •201 people are telling them the opposite and they're unhappy all the time because they feel they have to be something that doesn't exist in nature. Not better and not worse, just different." This morning's spring had turned suddenly cold and nasty, as New York springs often do; a volley of furious icy rain beat against our window and a fine spray was forced past the loose frame and fell on us. Fancy shivered under my hand. "There are enough mysteries and vexations in life already without making up some that don't belong," I said. "Enough devils in the world." Rain-drops rang on the iron fire-escape like thousands of tiny bells signaling panic everywhere. A plane passed over us, low on the final approach to one of the airports, or maybe just lost in the clouds; the jet's lonesome howl made Fancy start crying again. "What are you crying for now?" I said. "For us, Buck. Hold me tight. For everybody." A month of rain and cold soaked the city and drove my spirits down, and further down. Fancy and I shuttled from factory to apartment and back, staring at the other mournful faces hanging from the subway straps and feeling sorry for ourselves. Weinstein made me go down the package-shaft once a week; the rest of the time I wrapped Fancy's shades in |