{
	"sentences": [
		"I was spending the month of March 1892 at Mentone, in the Riviera. At this retired spot one has all the advantages, privately, which are to be had publicly at Monte Carlo and Nice, a few miles farther along. As a rule, I mean, the rich do not come there. Now and then a rich man comes, and I presently got acquainted with one of these.",
		"His name is Theophile Magnan. It has been a secret for many years - a secret between me and three others; but I am going to break the seal now. Are you comfortable? He wasn't any greater than we were, then. He hadn't any fame, even in his own village; and he was so poor that he hadn't anything to feed us on but turnips, and even the turnips failed us sometimes.",
		"We four became fast friends, doting friends, inseparables. We painted away together with all our might, piling up stock, piling up stock, but very seldom getting rid of any of it. We had lovely times together; but, O my soul! I've been all around the village and it's just as I tell you. Every face was blank with dismay. We realised that our circumstances were desperate, now."
	],
	"tags": ["marktwain", "ishelivingorishedead"]
}