Her stifled misery had betrayed her. Unless he has killed someone. Wood. He felt her observance and warmed to it. Let me go, Sir. He’s out in Phoenix last I heard. Horrors abounded in every passageway as each turn could bring a vision of a poor woman running from her screaming plague-infested son or a bloated corpse of a rich man whose mouth lolled open, showing gaps where someone had pried out a few golden teeth. There are sentimental and traditional deferences and reverences, I know, between father and son; but that’s just exactly what prevents the development of an easy friendship.
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