My wife—killed me. “You remember our first meeting?” “Yes,” he answered hoarsely. She could see over a waist high stone wall into the miniature courtyard, complete with benches only a small child could sit upon, one which had been broken in half, its two pieces left unjoined on the sandy ground. Members of the crowd looked over their shoulders and stared at her through the smoky haze. The air was thick with feelings. “Yes, mostly. I only seen her when she come with that Sister Martha.
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