"The devil is loose," mourned one young hippie, "and as long as he is loose, there will always be wrong things." Then a score of hippies in Denver murmured prayers for a "beautiful person" named Carol and a requiem for Carol's little Billy.
Billy was the darling of the denizens of the crash pad at Provo House, a tarnished brick relic of bygone opulence hard by Denver's Capitol Hill area. Provo House, named for a group of Dutch student rowdies by a Californian who calls himself "The Strider," proffered free mattresses and sometimes...
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