Lucy crouched by the side of the grave, her head in her hands, rocking back and forth. She was aware of him—a silk-hatted, shiny-black figure on the opposite side of the Avenue; and then, abruptly and startlingly, he crossed the road and saluted and spoke to her. “Katy Pfister. "I can't see him. This smile was more harrowing even than her former rigid look. ‘Seems to me like you know just about as much as me. “Oh my God, what if she’s dead?” More giggling.
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