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I sometimes think that we at the club (the home of homes) should do away with the large memorial grandfather clock that sits on the grand stair landing. After all, if there was ever a group that did not want to hear the passing of time, it would be the denizens of this city sanctuary. All too soon, many of us will have our day in the high court before St. Peter to explain about the time, in my case, that I stole my younger brother’s marbles (cats-eyes) or looted my sister’s Halloween takings, so I find the ticking unsettling and wish it elsewhere.

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