His head bent down, intent on kissing her underneath the showerhead. Lucy? Come 177 on out. But such was the violence of his grief,—such the compunction he exhibited, that all but one looked on with an eye of compassion. “It is your sister and her husband,” he said. She could not say who, not yet. Lucy clapped a hand over Michelle’s mouth and struck her neck with a swift blow to the carotid artery.
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