She felt anger at Sebastian, anger at the thrill that she felt in her loins upon seeing him, anger at herself for never having the courage to end her own life. “Who tied this scarf here?” he asked, looking up. She passed him silently as she dropped Michelle’s dried corpse into the open clay pit awkwardly, like a discarded doll. Part 8 And as she sat on her bed that night, musing and half-undressed, she began to run one hand down her arm and scrutinize the soft flow of muscle under her skin. What do you know about her, Fred? I am interested. The honey on his tongue turned to ashes. They took her fingerprints sitting at the gray metal desk of Officer Nolte, the virile young buck who had brought her in. She turned out the electric light and gained the hall. The candles—for McClintock never used oil in his dining room—were burning low in the sconces.
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