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THE THIN MAN IN THE GLASSES AND THE ANATOMY OF AN OWN

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HE HAS BEEN GOT.

The thin man with the glasses is vexed, but he does not show it. The thin man with the glasses abhors the clamor and din of the locker room. The thin man with the glasses, if druthers were to be had on this day, would seclude himself in the cold precision of film study, quietly working hammer and tongs until his opponent's weaknesses are laid bare.

The thin man with the glasses, better judgement be damned, enters into that clamor and din.

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The thin man with the glasses is snapped from absent minded daydream of faraway end zone.

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The thin man with the glasses scrambles to steel himself from this unexpected disturbance.

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The thin man with the glasses redoubles his efforts, screaming silently into the void. The thin man in the glasses suspects malfeasance in the midst of his citadel.

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The thin man with the glasses begins to lower his facade, covering the teeth just moments before exposed to convey friendship and cheer.

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The thin man with the glasses breathes for a moment, as time seemingly grinds to an icy halt.

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And there, the thin man with the glasses meets the grim specter that stalks all men. The thin man in the glasses has been owned.