‘Ain’t no call for you to go a-blaming of yourself. He was a manly man, free from any strong maternal strain, and he had loved his dark-eyed, dainty bright-colored, and active little wife with a real vein of passion in his sentiment. She thought of Sebastian who often returned from the charnel house that the outside world had become. She had exposed the real story behind Peters tragedy, that dark, handsome Chuck had killed himself by leaving the car running in the garage, not from a “heart attack” as 111 claimed the party line. She stared down at them from a high window, peering down at their moonlit faces in the bed heavy with furs, the same bed where she had given birth to Gianfrancesco’s dead son. ’ The sharp eyes twinkled. They smelled good, but they no longer smelled like food.
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