The hymnal lyrics had never stirred her; she had memorized and sung them parrotwise. The psychic vibration of him thickened the air of the room as if he were already inside. A bad one in a rough-and-tumble; all the water-front tricks. Then a ride to London on horseback. The petals have fallen—the red petals we loved so. His arm entered the round window of the white haze of her vision, his wrist spouting blood in currents, dripping on the stone floor.
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