He had been dreaming of Ruth—an old recurrency of that dream he had had in Canton, of Ruth leading him to the top of the mountain. Annabel ignored both the chair and the invitation. He had never liked to be hugged, but she wondered if his corporeal needs would be made apparent by human touch. "I could not make him understand. ‘I’ll play you at your own game,’ he growled, holding the foreshortened foil in place with rigid control. ’ He fitted the hat onto her head, and was aware as he did so of her eyes watching his face. Lucy vomited onto the floor at the sight of her mother dying, the black spots expanding across her corpse. David Courtlaw.
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