AT MIDNIGHT ON THE DAY Mathilde shoved the dog away from her into a new life with the little family, she woke to find herself outside in the overcast night, no glim of moon, the pool a tar pit. Still wearing the floor-length ivory sheath, she found herself screaming for the dog. “God!” she was shouting. “God!” But the dog was not skittering back to her. There was no noise, all still and lightless and watchful. Her heart began to pound. She went in, calling, “God? God?” She looked in all the closets, under all the beds; she looked in the kitchen, and it wasn’t until she saw the crate missing
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