You can have no shecrets from me. “I don’t think you realize,” Ann Veronica began again, “that I am rather a defective human being. But then you're an adopted son, and that makes all the difference. She went about the gory business of disposing of the bodies, cutting them up with a large butcher knife and packing the light dry pieces of their bloodless remains in a double ply garbage bag, pieces that looked like overcooked, ruined meat. “Great Scott!” he exclaimed huskily. When he was up and about, the idea of flight would return. They went on talking in the train—it seemed to her father a slight want of deference to him—and he listened and pretended to read the Times. The guests congregated within the night-cellar were, in fact, little better than thieves; but thieves who confined their depredations almost exclusively to the vessels lying in the pool and docks of the river.
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