...said this fifteen years ago—that's not possible—terrible how she kicked and struggled—even wrote it down somewhere—paper, you know— they found it after—couldn't stand on his own two feet—murdered her—no calling her back then—in there—the planes, you know—how they talk inside tonight—you could always try hopping—wanted to tell him that—had a way with words—back then—how they chatter tonight—like wind sometimes—blowing through—a graveyard?—I'm sure it wakes things—he was shaking her—the kids were wild by then—wouldn't come— not for anyone—not for the world—he was no better—hear them rattle and moan—like I always said—no better than dogs—deep down—no guilt—not a scrap of sense—was it always like this?—so cold?—so many trees?—just a nose for trouble—a dog's sense of where to get a blanket—a bowl full of blood—he must have known—even him—she knew right enough—what was coming, I mean— she didn't talk—didn't think it—oh but you could tell—she knew—in her clothes and her hair—would have been gone—but then there it was all along—he was holding her down—the incessant chatter—the stark trees thrusting—so she couldn't breathe—in water?—no just down—you know—in the levels—waving, crying—so she couldn't breathe—even in winter—she would have seen it coming—murder like that—a light—not that light—the one you walk into, no— not that—in her sleep—not that she listened—murder—a dazzling light...
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