He proposed, he wanted to possess her! He loved her. “The Holy Ghost! The Pope! My mother!” She squealed. “Shit!” John quickly countered, “What are you going to do? She’s a motor-mouth, Lucy, of the worst kind. It was now whitening, hissing, and seething like an enormous cauldron. Her bald head had swollen on her shoulders, puffy with fresh blood that ringed her mouth. My heart fails me. But I don't understand her; she's over my head.
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