The door opened. Mike and Shari sat at the kitchen table eating potato chips. The Widgett mental furniture was perhaps worn and shabby, but there it was before you, undisguised, fading visibly in an almost pitiless sunlight. I will no longer be a burthen to those upon whom I have no claim, but compassion. Michelle walked up the concrete porch steps, gesturing to Lucy to do the same. On that night, I surrendered myself to Jonathan Wild, and became— what I am.
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