She could still feel his psychic presence all around her, and she knew he was thinking of her. I’ll kill you, Sheila, and I’ll kill her too. Either you have had to love people or hate them—which is a sort of love, too, in its way—to get anything out of them. “Was he really?” She asked, waiting on baited breath. The thought of them distressed her without subtracting at all from the oceans of happiness in which she swam.
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