She spoke with fluent enthusiasm. Gianfrancesco had been talked into the arrangement only because the drivers that had handled the job for generations were sick or dead. Nothing else weighs against it. I promise not to do it again. He beheld a tall gaunt man, his brown face corrugated like a winter's road, grim, stony. Maggot. She passed him silently as she dropped Michelle’s dried corpse into the open clay pit awkwardly, like a discarded doll.
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