"Souls," she answered, drily. . The fire—if there was any in him—never made headway against this insistant demand to know the significance of these manifold inward agitations. He looked just as Julian had the night she had first met him outside the Joliet Laundromat. His mind was filled briefly with psychic images of a charnel house that danced like a spider in his head. She wrote it down.
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