I snatched it up, pointed it blindly at him, and fired. Wanton! Had I been one, even God would have forgiven me, understanding. It was just a shabby, stupid, furtive business that began between us. It was long and narrow, a well-lit, wellventilated, quiet gallery of small tables and sinks, pervaded by a thin smell of methylated spirit and of a mitigated and sterilized organic decay.
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