’ ‘The nuns?’ she said, gazing at him innocently. She imagined herself on a barren 41 plain, post-Apocalypse, convulsing, waiting to die with the cockroach. ‘Oh, my God, she’s gone!’ Wrenching his hand from his friend’s slackened grasp, he darted for the door, Roding behind him. “I have waited for this,” he said, and stood quite still, looking at her until the silence became oppressive. You may have to carry them further and longer than you think.
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