“Here.” I tossed him the ball. He carried it out as if it was made of iron. The door closed behind him. “He’s a likely boy.” “A lot you care, coming here to badger me. I talked to the police this morning. I don’t have to talk to you.” “I think you want to, though.” “I can’t. My husband—he doesn’t know.” “What doesn’t he know?” “Please.” She moved toward me rapidly, heavily, almost as though she was falling, and grasped my arm. “Ron will be coming in any minute. You won’t force me to talk in front of him?” “Send him away.” “How can I? He wants his dinner.” “You need something from the store.”
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