She drank and drank until his body was a lifeless husk, as light as a mannequin, virtually hollow of all but the fluid in his bones. My wife—killed me. All men are bloody fucking hypocrites. elizabethbailey. She would just have to show up and hope for the best. What's-your-name?" "Shotbolt, Sir," replied the jailer. Me, you may have. It depends upon what he was before he began this racket. . He sat alone in his brother’s old car night after night that summer, staring blankly at the red sky beyond the abandoned farmhouse where she had once shown him her secrets. “I meant to say good-bye to you to-night. I'll tell you what.
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