And gasps. There’s a body under a pile of woolen blankets. Gathering herself, she looks closer, sees that it’s Nic, a vibrating skeleton, sleeping, undisturbed by her cry. “Nic,” she exclaims. “What are . . .” Haunted, with black eyes, fully dressed in jeans and a long-sleeved shirt, Nic looks at her. He sits up. “What? Nan . . .” Both of them are stunned. “What are you doing?” “Nancy,” he begins. “I. . .” “Are you all right?” He gets up, grabs his bag, stammers, apologizes. “Nic, no,” Nancy says. “It’s all right. It’s just that you scared me to death.” “I’m . . . I’m sorry.” “Nic, are you on
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