He was followed with equal celerity by Terence and the widow. It was a tale of battle, murder, and sudden death on the New York waterfront. She shrank from him as he gripped her hand more forcibly. It was long and narrow, a well-lit, wellventilated, quiet gallery of small tables and sinks, pervaded by a thin smell of methylated spirit and of a mitigated and sterilized organic decay. She feared he might take her tears as a sign of weakness.
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