unearths some literary gems.
From The Corpse Wore Pasties, by Jonny Porkpie:
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"Sure, she was dead now, but who wasn't? Well, me, for one, and that's why I could spend all my time obsessing."
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The character she was playing when I walked in the door of the Gilded Heel was, I have to admit, my least favorite of her personae--an over-the-hill borscht-belt comedian named Allan Schmuck.
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"Have another," she said, and got up to pour me a whiskey. It was slightly better than my usual brand, but I drank it anyway.
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"I had just a bitch of a time shaking the guy who was tailing me. I had to pull a reverse Hammett with a half-Houdini and a Cincinnati twist."
"You're making that up."
"I am making that up. Actually, I just jumped on the F train as the doors were closing."
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[The two cops who rescue the protagonist from imminent murder at a burlesque show] came barreling through the crowd like two very short trucks, knocking over glasses, bottles, and a bachelorette or two.
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