That reminds me of the part when Holden Caulfeild says he wants to move far away to a small town and pretend to be a deaf mute so he doesn't have to talk to anyone and then work at a gas station and find a girl deaf mute and they would get married and be happy together.
I've been impelled, Mollie, to revisit my rather disheveled copy of Catcher in the Rye--one, in fact, of which I became proprietor in a somewhat queer and amusing way. If we were to be entirely scrupulous about the matter, it would be recognized as the official property of Burke High School, one of the nearly innumerable high schools from which Claude did *not* graduate. (Ah, sororal affection.) Either out of a sophomoric spite, I estimate, or sheer laziness, he failed to return it before he ceased to attend classes there, and, when I inquired, he seemed quite jolly about ridding himself of the tattered albatross. (Generosity is a fleeting spell, however, as he would later demand it back in a moment of arbitrary ire. But I know my prerogatives: I refused.) And, ethical qualms notwithstanding, I do admire the defiant and reckless origin of so very rebellious a book
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