He uttered a short laugh. Blue haze had settled beyond the black silhouettes of trees, graduating to the deep violet that began the night sky. Spurlock advanced, the censer swung high. ‘That is good,’ she said with satisfaction, ‘for I was compelled on Saturday to abandon the chase. I get my driver's license tomorrow. Old farmhouses loomed as they whizzed by, left behind in the gray like mourners. Listening on the dimlit landing, he saw Roding’s face muscles tighten.
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