His mind was filled briefly with psychic images of a charnel house that danced like a spider in his head. Clotilde rushed out of the house, carrying her boy and tugging her girl by the ear. Blue haze had settled beyond the black silhouettes of trees, graduating to the deep violet that began the night sky. He yelled to her, asking her if she wished to have a drink with him, which she refused. “Won’t you sit down,” she said, “and tell me what you want to say?” Her voice was flat and faint.
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