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Their idle glances walked on him with many tiny feet.
his intimate friend Randy’s
Will Graham opened it for her.
he was kind and thoughtful to you. I believe it. That’s what you brought out in him.
You didn’t draw a freak. You drew a man with a freak on his back.
A mockingbird lit on the top of a chimney and whistled. Graham whistled back.
the most intense and savage joy that had ever burst in him.
Here we are, you and I, languishing in our hospitals. You have your pain and I am without my books—the
we make mercy, manufacture it in the parts that have overgrown our basic reptile brain. There is no murder. We make murder, and it matters only to us.