I got to the library a half hour before it opened. I cursed and sat down on a bench. I must have dozed in the sun, for it was 12:10 when I looked at m... watch. Rubbing my eyes and stretching, I realized that I didn't want to read any more Gillespie. I didn't want to read Jens Peter Jacobsen, either. I thought of Alice. I had looked her up. And she'd made a remark about an article of mine.In the library, at the bibliography table, I thought I'd look in the most recent volume. "Singleton, A." had. They were small girls and exact images of each other as they were twins. Their long red hair was matted with blood from their backs. Their green eyes were glazed by pain, and blood obscured many of their freckles where their flesh was not torn or bruisedThe one girl moaned even more than her sister. She had a broken arm and very bruised fingers. She had dared to beg their Master, Harold, to not hurt her sister further. For touching him, he had caught her arm, placed it on his booted foot and. More

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