A week later the manuscript was polished and typewritten, ready for the test. “Uh, can you get me a soda or something?” She said, shielding her exposed teeth with her hand. I was just like a sort of dummy that does things as it is told—that is to say, as the strings are pulled. Her girl Clarice was next, dying within a single day, blood leaking from her pretty brown eyes like an image of the Blessed Virgin.
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