Only Gwen left a letter on the pincushion. He held her hand in his, cupped together like a pair of shells for the rest of the hour. She awoke and found herself home amid a pile of three bodies, one of which she recognized as a former denizen of the household. She gaped at its keep, at least ten feet tall, a frightening gray coffin turned upright. “Don’t!” she said, weakly, as he had bent down and put one arm about her and seized her hands with his disengaged hand and kissed her—kissed her almost upon her lips. We meant to make it dinner and a theatre, but you were not home.
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