Perhaps for the first time he realized that Anna was by no means an ordinary person. Thanksgiving Day morning, Shari woke Lucy a half an hour before the sounding of the alarm. My wife—killed me. Her fingers rested upon his. She occupied a small sofa, a little apart, a ruddy-complexioned gentleman some years her senior beside her, and glanced about with an air of considerable unease. “But where are you going? Lucy, you’re safe here.
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