Wakefield

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  “In some old magazine or newspaper I recollect a story, told as truth, of a man—let us call him Wakefield—who absented himself for a long time from his wife. The fact, thus abstractedly stated, is not very uncommon, nor, without a proper distinction of circumstances, to be condemned either as naughty or nonsensical. Howbeit, this, though far from the most aggravated, is perhaps the strangest instance on record of marital delinquency, and, moreover, as remarkable a freak as may be found in the whole list of human oddities. The wedded couple lived in London. The man, under pretense of going a journey, took lodgings in the next street to his own house, and there, unheard of by his wife or friends and without the shadow of a reason for such self-banishment, dwelt upward of twenty years. During that period he beheld his home every day, and frequently the forlorn Mrs. Wakefield. And after so great a gap in his matrimonial felicity—when his death was reckoned certain, his estate settled...

My Mailbox

Know what's in my mailbox? Nothin'.

Well, that’s not true.

Bills. Ads.

That’s what's in my mailbox.

Found a bird’s nest in my mailbox once . . . actually, it was in the newspaper box underneath the mailbox. I'm surprised the mail-man never said anything about it. But he's not the paper-boy, so not his problem I guess. And I don't get a newspaper. Should I be surprised that nobody noticed it at all, for as long as it was there? Anyway, the nest is not there anymore. 

Actually, he's not a mailman 'cause he's a she. She's the mail-woman. 

That sounds weird.

I get no mail unless I order something, subscribe to something. In other words, I don’t get anything unless I send it to myself--or someone wants my money.

That's what's in my mailbox. 

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