A fever of shame ran through her being. ‘Who kills who?’ ‘Rot in hell,’ he snarled, panting, and managed to push himself forward and leap off the dais, running for the safety of the far aisle by the wall. She pulled, he rose to his feet. He waited for an instant, wasting an encouraging smile in the imperfect light, and then shut the doors of the van, leaving the women in darkness. Why do I want him so badly? Why do I want him, and think about him, and fail to get away from him? “It isn’t all of me.
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