And here he was, but a hundred yards away, this wastrel who trailed his genius through the mud. All the rest of his existence was subordinate to this pursuit; he lived for it, worked for it, kept himself in training for it. Well, he was executed for murder. . A chill rain thrummed against the sides of John’s car, having slowed from deluge to steady patter, the snow was 158 dissolved where it lay.
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