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[after painting a ball bearing in the Deacon's eye socket to look like a real one
: Well? How's it look?
[the other smokers say, "not bad," "not bad at all", etc
: I-I like it better than your real eye.
[One smoker says, "much better," to general agreement
: What do you say, Toby? The truth. Toby
: Looks like shit. Deacon
: That's why I love children: no guile.
[after looking at his new eye in a mirror
: It does look like shit.