Even now she could trace the outline of his shape behind the left-hand curtain. In the struggle, Mrs. Could she go through with it? She must. I kicked the living shit out of him. His heart was beating, but faintly and slowly, with ominous intermissions. He was a thin old man, a wreck in a ruined body, but nothing would induce him to stand in any other way than as stiffly erect as possible like the soldier he had always been, even though he was obliged to lean on his silver-handled cane to do so.
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