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"The cup is red. The drop of rain is blue. The clam is brown." So said the sheet of exercises-- purple mimeos, still heady from the fluid in the rolling silver drum. But the cup was not red. It was white, or had no color of its own. Oh, but my mind was finical. It put the teacher perpetually in the wrong. Called on, however, I said aloud: "The cup is red." "But it's not," I thought, like Galileo Galilei muttering under his beard.... |