Melusine whirled. In mid-bite, she heard a car door slam that was recognizable. I waited until he was asleep and then I tied him up with some duct tape and some old rope he had in the shed. But in its stead—toward morning—there appeared another idea which appealed to him as sublime, appealed to the primitive conscience, to his artistic sense of the drama, to the poet and the novelist in him.
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