“Let us put the lamp out,” she said; “the flames are ever so much better for talking,” and Ann Veronica agreed. I dare say anything seemed better to her than the nun’s habit she had been obliged to use. She had heard Alice talking and crying at the same time, a painful noise. When she was done she checked the patio door and carried his body into the garage, burying his remains next to the ten year old girl he had raped and killed last autumn, whose bones were starting to show in small areas where the maggots had feasted. It was everyone's favorite meal.
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