Blue haze had settled beyond the black silhouettes of trees, graduating to the deep violet that began the night sky. She told him the story of her parents, her marriage to Iovelli, the loss of her baby, the kidnapping after the miscarriage. You’re a piss-poor liar, John. But you want one quality, without which all others are valueless. ‘I thank you. Supper was spaghetti and Italian sausage that night. Then a roar of hisses. She cried as he watched, frozen to the ground.
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