Again, she shrugged. “People grow old. They die.” “All of them,” he agreed. “All but you and I.” “You die constantly,” she said. He got up and went to sit beside her on the sofa. Somehow, she kept still, subdued her impulse to get up, move away from him. “I have never died,” he said. She stared past him at one of the candlesticks on the mantel. “Yes,” she said. “I should have said you kill constantly.”
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