Pale, flesh-colored light filtered in through the corners of the house. She could tell it was new territory for him and he might lose the nerve to take them off himself, without the aid of drink. “We are the music and you are the instrument,” she said; “we are verse and you are prose. ‘Seems to me like you know just about as much as me. Strange gurgle-like noises emanated from the crypt. “Never mind.
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