<poem> Dick lived _ England. _ January he said _ his wife, “I'm going to fly _ New York _ next week, because I've got some work there again.” “Where are you going to stay there?” his wife asked. “I don't know yet,” Dick answered. “Please send me your address _ there _ a telegram,” his wife said. “All right,” Dick answered. He flew _ New York _ January 31st _ a plane and found a nice hotel _ the centre _ the city. He put his things _ his room and then he sent his wife a telegram. He put the address of his hotel _ it. _ the evening he did not have any work, so he went _ a cinema. He came out _ nine o'clock and said, “Now I'm going to go back _ my hotel and have a nice dinner.” He found a taxi, and the driver asked, “Where do you want to go?” But Dick did not remember anything _ his hotel - neither the name nor address _ it. “Which hotel are my things in?” he said. “And what am I going to do tonight?” But the driver _ the taxi did not know, so Dick got _ and went _ a telegraph office. There he sent his wife another telegram, and _ it he wrote, “Please send me my address _ this telegraph office.” </poem>
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