‘Forgive my not rising to greet you,’ she said, holding out a claw-like hand. ‘If you care for me at all, shoot me. We went our ways. A few yards further off something grey, inert, was lying, a huddled-up heap of humanity twisted into a strange unnatural shape. Not a scar but has its history. I shall not part with you again. His job as a painter was wearing him down acutely as he aged.
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