Something, then, to appease the wrath of God; something to blunt this persistent agony. On a bench at the foot of the trees, with a pipe in his mouth, and a tankard by his side, sat the worthy carpenter, looking the picture of good-heartedness and benevolence. She placed the freezer back on top of Ray Plote's old hiding place, now his permanent resting place. She repeated this breathlessly. Twenty-one, twenty-two.
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