It was she who felt guilty as he showed her their bedroom, smelling her perfume, ingesting their psychic leftovers. But this is not sufficient. It was not a long prayer. “I remember you now,” he said. The ragged edge. On his return to the room, Jonathan purposely left the door of the Well Hole ajar. We shall both, I hope, live to enjoy our shares—long after Thames Darrell is forgotten—ha! ha! A third of your estate I accept.
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