Her own pack was so light that she left it in the locker. His arm entered the round window of the white haze of her vision, his wrist spouting blood in currents, dripping on the stone floor. She dressed quickly, pulling on white jeans and a red tee shirt. ‘I am not a murderer. Lights were on and Michelle’s mother was up, occasionally pacing as Michelle and Lucy had been gone for over two hours. “I am afraid—I really think that one of us ought to go with you,” he said. He kissed her fingers and grinned.
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