Happy camper.

Dewey was a dreadnought of glamour withholding an elegant swan.
He was a man of instincts and almost violent passions.
He wore his vices (imperious) and his virtues (ambassadorial) for all to see.
His allure was a result not of impossible recognition or even splendor.
It was an inhuman mercy.
He was humanity.
He retained all that was recognizably real.
He was a sense of humor and a gigantic heart.
He was irresistible mayhem.
He was without vanity.
He transcended whatever else he was doing, whatever that didn’t look right.
You saw him.

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