He had a blue overstuffed couch, his own television, even a computer with its own desk. Along the inner side was a wonderfully arranged series of displayed specimens that Russell himself had prepared. Teenagers buzzed about her newly discovered talent for the violin in the same sentences as they gossiped about her torrid police scandal and a lost mother who remained in the deep shadows of murder mystery. The wound lay open for five seconds, and then closed neatly as if it had been stitched by invisible hands. Someone bounded up the stairs, which groaned from the strain, unmistakably Mike. "Well, Mrs.
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