Was he really awake? The arrival and departure of this strange father lacked the essential human touch to make it real. “You silly fool,” he said. John spent the first weeks of summer backpacking in Europe, and she heard occasional news from Michelle of his whereabouts. She mentioned, with familiar respect, Christ and Buddha and Shelley and Nietzsche and Plato. After a while he spoke again. I could not have spoken to her. “What is going on between you two?” Lucy asked. She had to make sure, for the peace of her mind, that this was really the man. Her girl Clarice was next, dying within a single day, blood leaking from her pretty brown eyes like an image of the Blessed Virgin.
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