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, : Although in his eighties, Lawrence Ferlinhetti was still a big, handsome fellow with clear blue eyes () and a kitbag full of stories () which he enjoyed spinning as he led me round the shop, pausing in front of posters advertising past readings, and the cash till that Gregory Corso had thrown through the window and made off with when he had worked there. (Although angry, he had taken the fallen angel () back. Whatever Gregory did, we always forgave him.)

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