She had imagined that prisons were white-tiled places, reeking of lime-wash and immaculately sanitary. . I can be that man, the one I know you want. The thin stream of blood on which her eyes were fastened with a nameless horror reached almost to her feet. She and her husband have no children and ten computers. “Here we are,” he said, “shining through each other like light through a stained-glass window. Her little white hand stole across the table. Now I have done something for which you might be pardoned if you did kill me. Collins, you can go now.
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