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6/19/2025, 10:47:38 AM
>When Welles didn’t work, he drank, bragged, ran through women, ate like a beast and hated himself. He’d eat supper at his dressing table–two steaks, each with a baked potato; an entire pineapple; triple pistachio ice cream; and a bottle of Scotch. Appetite drove him. Applause wasn’t enough. He wanted amazement, the gasp of a common crowd.
Still lived to 70 despite all that.
Still lived to 70 despite all that.
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