She ran down alleyways and between buildings, faster than an Olympian, until she could hear his voice no more. My Mom and Dad were always 184 at work. Jests are not for seasons like this. All that confidence, born of irony, disappeared; and fear laid hold of him. A hush descended across the audience as instruments tuned, creating small ladders of fifths that collapsed abruptly, snatches of solos that disappeared and reappeared like gags in a house of mirrors. And they had an idea of what men were like behind all their nicety.
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