They stopped in the pool of light just beyond his car and embraced. Watching them, Louis felt a kind of sick wonder and self-loathing. Here he was, crouching behind a tombstone like a subhuman character in some cheap comic-book story, watching lovers. Is the line so thin, then? he wondered, and that thought also had a ring of familiarity. So thin you can simply step over it with this little fuss, muss, and bother? Climb a tree, shinny along a branch, drop into a graveyard, watch lovers… dig holes? That simple? Is it lunacy? I spent eight years becoming a doctor, but I’ve become a grave robber
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