My son went down after his death. What he wanted desperately was to be alone. Jack's nose was broad and flat; Darrell's straight and fine as that of Antinous. “I was sick of the make-believe. Hanging on the wall was a temple censer, bronze, moulded in the shape of a lotus blossom with stem and leaves—deadly as a club. The scrutiny of any strange man provoked a sweaty terror.
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