It is a plain case of alcoholic stupor. There’s no sense in morality, I suppose, unless you are fundamentally immoral. But about his unknown rival he was acutely curious. This was David Courtlaw, whose ways, too, had never been very different from the ways of other men as regards her sex. Anna held out her hand, and he paused. O'Higgins. Annabel thought, and thought again. When she was done she checked the patio door and carried his body into the garage, burying his remains next to the ten year old girl he had raped and killed last autumn, whose bones were starting to show in small areas where the maggots had feasted. I am quite indiscriminate, I assure you.
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