His safety must be looked to. “You must leave me your address if you please,” he said, as she rose to go. The day was unseasonably humid and dark, a thick fog having descended over manicured lawns. She was with these movements—akin to them, she felt it at times intensely—and yet something eluded her. She had to school herself to speak the words which she knew would cut him like a knife. That he was hot and breathless was of no matter; in that moment he would have faced a dozen Samsons. There are no funerals among the poor, only burials.
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