In George's world potbellied crooks wheezed in and out of the Building & Loan, gnawing on your tendons with glee and impunity, and scheming to build slums and pawn shops on whatever was left of you.
I always found myself wishing for more for poor George Bailey, I guess is what I'm saying. Trampled by bad luck, by his own virtue and his begrudging loyalties, stalled out at every moment of departure.
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