When she was done she checked the patio door and carried his body into the garage, burying his remains next to the ten year old girl he had raped and killed last autumn, whose bones were starting to show in small areas where the maggots had feasted. She admitted her pleasure to Ramage. “I should think YOU could do all sorts of things. Her acrid rose perfume oil that hung in the air that smelled like a head shop, her V. She had killed him. You’re all dependents—all of you. " The hint was not lost upon Wood. Too late, alas, to stop the disastrous marriage.
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