I never intended it to be anything but a short story, for I had never completed even the shortest of stories unless forced to in grammar school. After all, that was life. Perhaps that other boy who visited you backstage at the concert. ‘You were his daughter. Upstairs, in the little dressing-room, the panel was opened by means of tugging a small candlesconce in the wall. Ennison looked down on him in disgust.
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