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June 10, 2005

The comforting aroma of hearty longevity perfumes the air at the Brooks Atkinson Theater, as thick and intangible as the cigar smoke that wreathes the man on the stage. For there, disporting himself with the lazy assurance that comes with long years of being adored and having the whole world as your mirror, is the 70-year-old Mark Twain, in remarkably fresh and topical form for someone dead nearly a century.

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