“I don’t suppose you’ve read Faulkner?” She raised one hand to brush at something invisible, something hanging in front of her face. There it was again. “Nope.” “No, I didn’t think so. I’m hoping to find someone who can help to convey that very darkness, Mr. Rydell. The mind of the South. A fever dream of sensuality.” Rydell blinked. “But you don’t convey that to me. I’m sorry.” It looked like the invisible cobweb had come back. Rydell looked at the rentacop, but he didn’t seem to be listening to any of this. Hell, he seemed to be asleep. “Lady,” Rydell said carefully, “I think you’re crazier
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