She had killed the McCloskeys after they had witnessed her making a kill. He had never liked to be hugged, but she wondered if his corporeal needs would be made apparent by human touch. At last some anodyne formed itself from these exercises, and, with eyelashes wet with such feeble tears as only three-o’clock-in-the-morning pathos can distil, she fell asleep. "The poor young man!" she said.
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