Whenever Richard Cory went downtown we people on the pavement looked at him, He was a gentleman from soul to crown, clear favored and imperially slim. And he was always quietly arrayed and he was always human when he talked. But still he made pluses flutter when he said, "Good morning", and he glittered when he walked. And he was rich, oh yes, richer than a king. Admirably schooled in every grace. In fine, we thought he was everything to make us wish that we were in his place. So on we worked, waited for the light, went without meat and kissed the bread. And Richard Cory, one calm summer night went home and put a bullet through his head.
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