Joseph Whitcher

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A rash of lightning rattled the stars; Miss Wisteria’s royal headgear caught fire in this brief tinseled burst, the glass jewels glittering roselike in the pink lights of the ferris-wheel, and Joel, left below, could see her white winglike hands alight on Idabel’s hair, flutter away, squeeze the dark as if eating its very substance.
Other Voices, Other Rooms (Vintage International)
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