It was astonishing how often this picture returned: cold rosy apples and flurries of snow. I want to boast myself. “Cut her throat!” Sebastian snapped. They sat down in a covered pavilion that housed a grimy picnic table and a dingy fire pit. Ennison stood still for a moment, swinging his latchkey upon his finger. It was a gorgeous May evening, the air redolent with the soapy purple scents of hyacinth and lilac. That is what I must do.
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