She would take the items with her; bury the items and her bloodstained clothes in one of the many sinkholes in the huge landfill/garbage dump on the south side of town. And yet—such is the buoyancy of youth—within a fortnight he began his first novel, pretending to himself that it was on Ruth's account. The moment they cease to be serviceable, or become dangerous he lodges an information, and the matter's settled. His glasses were gone. “All right?” he asked.
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