As Drusilla’s hand dives back into the ball, it seems too much to hope that both Lenore Dove and I will escape this terror. That in a few hours, we’ll be far away from the square, locked in each other’s arms in the cool shade of the woods. I suck in my breath, preparing for my death sentence. Drusilla peers at the final name. “And boy number two is . . . Woodbine Chance!”
WHAT THE FUCK
