He was always word-building, a metaphorist, lavish with singing adjectives; but often he built in confusion because it was difficult to describe something beautiful in a new yet simple way. I am out of your life forever, never having been in it. ” True summer descended like a sticky fever upon August’s arrival, bringing with it miasmas of humidity that seemed to hang from the trees like mucus. ” “I had to,” she repeated. What was his problem, she thought to herself. She must kill this man, or kill herself. It wasn’t pretty.
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