She had made a bed for herself out of wood and furs. She was, she guessed, close to the library. “I’m a ghoul! So you can become a ghoul? You should settle down, John, get married, have children. You must forgive the poet’s license I take. Almost worthy of your own fertile imagination. ‘You would read my mind?’ Gerald was pretty certain he already had, but he did not say so. “Is Coke okay?” He asked as he pulled into the gas station. Wood, disdainfully. But he knew. “Think of the mockery!” she said. “Never—but, by Jove, you had a narrow escape,” Ennison exclaimed. The wedding day came shortly after she turned fourteen. She forbade him to escape to his workshop in the basement during those times, denying him his one and only hobby. "This is the explanation of the bloody deed.
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