He took her hand in his, raising it closer, and gently touched the maltreated skin. He was so seldom wrong. He was the Napoleon of knavery, and established an uncontrolled empire over all the practitioners of crime. I guess they were bad all the time. For hours he seemed to have pleasant dreams of open skies and airplanes, but then the dreams would disintegrate into fleshy charnel house nightmares where he could hear her calling to him through a fog. Miching Mallecho.
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