"A lotta Christians wear crosses 'round their necks; do you think if Jesus comes back he ever wants to see another cross?"

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There was no mistaking, even in the uncertain light, the hand, half crabbed, half generous, and wholly drunken, of the Consul himself, the Greek e's, the flying buttresses of d's, the t's like lonely wayside crosses save where they crucified an entire word.

— Malcolm Lowry