She kept him talking all the way to the doorstep of the
Beck's home, a small 1970s brown split-level in the old
part of town. Her
white shirt was mired with a central bloodstain, his pants
caked with mud. "Jack has been keeping bad company. ”
She stopped with an air of interrogation. He would
teach her all he knew of life so that if the Hand should ever reach his shoulder,
she would be able to defend herself. Something that is born
anew each time we meet, and pines when we are separated. It’s the
rarest luck, the wildest, most impossible accident. “I wonder,” she
said, “why one writes him sentences like that? It’ll have to go,” she decided,
“I’ve written too many already.
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This video was uploaded to damaulifm.org on 29-06-2024 18:47:36