She imagined descending the stairs, hearing Mike’s uproarious laughter as she peeked around a vacant corner with a lump in her throat. There were the burnt papers still in the grate. ‘Beg pardon, sir?’ asked the sergeant, evidently mystified. The cloth nearly touches the floor. He swore that I was his wife, and—I shot him, Nigel, as his arms were closing around me. I can’t forget about your sister.
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