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” Anna nodded. “Does Mr. Her head dangled unnaturally for an instant, unleashed from its moorings, then sank to join her husband’s on the floor. “Do you think you’ll ever get married, Lucy?” Lucy shifted uncomfortably as she pulled her makeshift nightgown—an old T-shirt—over her head. Her bald head had swollen on her shoulders, puffy with fresh blood that ringed her mouth. There isn’t a husband breathing, Annabel, who wouldn’t have blessed that pistol in your hands, and prayed God that the bullet might go straight.
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