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Article Title

Roughhewn Ends

Abstract

My learned friend, Dr. H. K. Wombat, seldom stirs abroad from his home overlooking the Southern California coast from the Palos Verdes peninsula to Malibu. This is not for fear of being stared at -- for the Los Angeles Basin offers far more bizzare denizens than an elderly marsupial dressed in cap and cape -- but because the savant is constantly occupied in his own projects and thoughts, some of which I have been privileged to communicate to you. Still, at times the doughty diprotodont does indeed sally forth, as, for instance, to a bookstore at Rosewood and Western, which he favors because the Struldbruggian proprietor refuses to pay the phone company what it demands for a telephone and marks nearly every book ten dollars, but is prepared to dicker. The store is in a changing neighborhood which means that it is taken over by swart and hardfaced characters after dark and everybody lives in apartments; the proprietor has been beaten and robbed; and even the Wombat has lost his wallet there.

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