‘Certainly I am not a nun. "Well, good night, Mr. It was a motor accident—a fatal motor accident the evening papers called it. I presume that you have been living alone?” She sighed gently. You have threatened to kill me for nothing, I know not how many times. It opened and a nun’s head popped out. Supper was spaghetti and Italian sausage that night. Bodies were piled high in the streets, Sebastian went on rounds and would come back late at night, reporting horrors and robberies, death that came within hours, not days.
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