” She implored him. In the distance a barrel-organ was grinding out a pot pourri of popular airs. She spied him sitting on his armless black couch, his feet splayed as he stared at his television blankly. He called a waiter. And I have no more the pistol. . There is turmoil, shouts, cries, jostlings, milling congestions that suddenly break and flow in opposite directions. Had he been trying to stop the grim descent, and had he dimly perceived that perhaps a fine deed would serve as the initial barrier? A drunken idea—a pearl in the midst of a rubbish heap. " "I imagine I've been in a kind of trance. She showered after she heard the door shut and the cars pull out of the driveway.
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