And yet, at the end of this prayer a subconscious thought broke through to consciousness. She withdrew her mouth and patted his penis dry with the bottom of his shirttails. I'm thinking that the Wastrel was one day a celebrated professional; and the women were partly the cause of his fall. Anna sat with the face of a Sphinx— waiting. Her white shirt was mired with a central bloodstain, his pants caked with mud. His fellow-prisoners nicknamed him the gallows-provider, from a habit he had of picking out all those who were destined to the gibbet.
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