I killed him, Nigel. I was grateful. She found pieces of it on the blacktop near the green dumpster, amazingly small pieces considering the fabric’s original heft. She would always be going to and fro up the Avenue, getting glimpses of Ramage, seeing him in trains. He touched a long-standing sore, and Ann Veronica found herself vainly trying to explain—the inexplicable. Their conversation hung.
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