Why do they all think me harmless? He might be a good judge of men, but he’s an appalling one of women. He knows about my purchased knives, yes, but not about Óisín’s pearl-handled knife, hidden deep within my pockets, and it’s an awful surprise to him that I slip it across his throat as he’s kissing me. He makes a terrible noise; I swiftly wrap my shirt around his neck to keep the blood from spurting too much, but not enough to staunch the flow and accidentally save him. I watch the crimson soaking into the white fabric, wonder if all that red might fill the hole inside of me where Maura and
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