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… and the festive medley of cars that jammed the narrow streets, engines idling and spurting, packed or piled high with portmanteaus, grips, golf clubs, radios, canvases, coats on wire hangers, paperbacks strapped or strung together like tiles, hair driers like instruments for the obscenest gynecology of all, umbrellas, meter rules, pieces of shelving, lacrosse sticks, baseball bats, minor tables and even, in the open back of one lilac convertible, a bedraggled Christmas tree. Each car was a hot, shining, metal quadrilateral, open or covered, and jammed (oh yes) with jammy, bouncy, damploined, pulp-lipped, washed-haired, Alice-blue-banded little campus honeys lepidote with tiny eczema or undiagnosed gonorrhea, all sailing glamorously home to cities, penicillin and a few hours of beautifying electrolysis.
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