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What you can do, you can do without, said the man at the breakfast table. If it had been a conversation, that would have ended it.

No one will have your interests at heart, he said to a closing door of a cab en route to an airport.

They make all that fuss, he said to the television as a news story from Europe flashed across the screen.

They do still write, dear, she informed her husband, referencing her hidden box of letters all addressed to only her.