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Fanning the flames of the housing market will leave us all burned

Sometimes, gazing around the pulsating bars of the Slug and Lettuce, one is struck by the sangfroid of the drinkers there. They seem the least troubled collection of individuals you could ever hope to see. Guilelessly seeking pleasure and relaxation, you would not think to look at them, even to talk to them, that a death sentence had been passed on the world as they know it.

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