Q. Manning’s letter. But when they were on their way out he whispered in Anna’s ear. Perhaps that other boy who visited you backstage at the concert. She screamed as she saw that their throats had been ripped out and their dead eyes bulged with horror as their heads lolled from mere strings of sinew and flesh. Then she sat down—uninvited— and looked from one to the other curiously. At the least, the tales had the ability to make her forget where she was; which was something in their favour. It’s a sort of home-leaving instinct.
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