The ambitions of his life, and they were many, seemed to lie far away, broken up dreams in some outside world where the way was rough and the sky always grey. He lowered himself on to her. Anna watched her with curious eyes. “My Mom was a good lady. She could smell his cologne underneath his collar, or perhaps his aftershave. Apparently he thought it very much worth while. Funny codgers, aren't they?" he said. “Accident! She shot me,” he muttered. Foolish compliments were tossed about like confetti. They give themselves airs, but so it is. He seemed inexorable, and inscrutable as fate itself. He savored the last solo, the coda.
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