By the time she was done, the bodies in the bathtub were gathering flies. That is what my mother used to call me. Now he lay there, a doubled-up mass, with ugly distorted features, and a dark wet stain dripping slowly on to the carpet. The idea that he held in his arms the girl whom he had once so passionately loved, and for whom he still retained an ardent but hopeless attachment, almost overcame him. “I did not,” Anna answered.
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