Thank God for the cocaine Freud was on daily. It made him quite chatty, and he constantly expounded to anyone who would listen on all he found. Fortunately, he seldom left his house. Others may have stolen these ideas if it wasn’t for Freud’s clever nephew, little Eddie Bernays listening to Freud’s babblings, this was Paul and Ludwigs ticket to acquiring the tools they needed. Paul sauntered down to the Republican Newspaper. He went in and crossed the lobby to the receptionist. “Hello there, my name is Paul Hawthorne, an old family friend of Bill’s. Is he in just now?” “Bill Brass, the owner?” the receptionist asked curiously. “Is there any other?” “Actually, there’s a reporter, Bill Snodgrass, but somehow I guessed you as seeking Bill Brass.” “Your powers of discernment are commendable, and about Bill?” “Oh yes, just one moment.”
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