From Cat's Cradle by Kurt Vonnegut, Jr.:
He was sitting on a rock. He was barefoot. His feet were frosty with ice-nine. His only garment was a white bedspread with blue tufts. The tufts said Casa Mona. He took no note of our arrival. In one hand was a pencil. In the other was paper.
"May I ask what you're thinking?"
"I am thinking, young man, about the final sentence for The Books of Bokonon. The time for the final sentence has come."
He shrugged and handed me a piece of paper.
is what it read:
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