He motioned the young man to the rear chair, because at that hour the youth appeared to be a quantity close to zero. He was a thin old man, a wreck in a ruined body, but nothing would induce him to stand in any other way than as stiffly erect as possible like the soldier he had always been, even though he was obliged to lean on his silver-handled cane to do so. The day was unseasonably humid and dark, a thick fog having descended over manicured lawns. “You are a thousand times more beautiful,” he said, “than anything else could be. And all the third act is love-sick music. ” Anna leaned back in the chair and laughed softly. ‘I ain’t done nothing wrong, I swear it. . ’ She raised the pistol. “This ain’t no place for you.
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