Her aunt was a long time before she answered. Always as black and bitter as gall. He had heard me sing—the fool thought himself in love with me. She found pieces of it on the blacktop near the green dumpster, amazingly small pieces considering the fabric’s original heft. Listening at one of the doors leading to the Master Debtors' side, he heard a loud voice chanting a Bacchanalian melody, and the boisterous laughter that accompanied the song, convinced him that no suspicion was entertained in this quarter.
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