Lucy spoke once they had turned the corner. Her mind invoked her husband, who she imagined lying dead in a ditch somewhere, tortured and killed by brigands or perhaps eaten by creatures like herself, a fate he actually deserved. ‘Like a vision she were. She’s hated me for no apparent reason ever since Fourth Grade. She thought of all sorts of odd and desperate expedients, and with passionate petulance rejected them all. Each was draped in transparent silk, dancing, beckoning to me, teasing me.
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