Anna was still holding her cigarette between her fingers. On a stool eight feet high sat a small boy in a faded blue cotton, his face like that of young Buddha. All the sombre visions she had been pressing back, fighting out of her thoughts, swarmed over the barrier and crushed her. Detention would mean coming home late, which spelled distraction and trouble on the night of a kill. She had discussed the general question of supplies with the helpful landlady. "Not a single whooper-upter! Nothing but torment and remorse … and Ruth! Children, put your arms around me.
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