” His eyes were squeezed shut. On the floor, underneath the sixth row desks, was an ashtray with a small black dot of blood on its blunt round corner. You must think of this evening, John, sometimes—as a sort of atonement. He was content to watch her accepting compliments and gaudy bouquets full of red roses, white carnations, and purple statice. But in this posture he fared worse than ever.
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