Will you read to me? I am tired; and the sound of your voice makes me drowsy. "Have you got Jonathan out of the way?" he asked, in an eager whisper. Michelle sat on her bed, which emanated scents of powdered laundry detergent and Sweet Honesty perfume. She said it audibly, having learned long since that an audible prayer was a concentrated one. She felt that for a time at any rate her depressing struggle against continual failure was at an end. I was curious about that. The novel danger of the situation enthralled him.
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