Sheila knew that the Eat & Shop on the corner of 53rd and Oleson was a flimsy front for an all-in-the-family whorehouse. ‘Burned them, one by one, right before that fellow’s eyes. Michelle was in sight, Lucy could hear her voice, high in the crowd, and saw her blond head bobbing among a sea of faces. The candles—for McClintock never used oil in his dining room—were burning low in the sconces. She bounced onto her bottom. We pretend we never think of everything that makes us what we are.
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