269 They pulled up to the same spot where Michelle’s and the young man’s bodies were, already attracting dust and creeping bugs in the pit. It engulfed them in black, white, and gray. In a sense it alters nothing. “Anna! What tragedy has happened, little sister? No lights, no supper, no coffee —and, above all, no Mr. But I'm sure it's important. In his muscular pudgy hand was a photograph, frayed at the corners, soiled from the contact of many hands: the portrait of a youth of eighteen.
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