Daily contact with actual human beings all the more inclined her toward the imaginative. I felt—wrapped in thick cobwebs. No amount of scrubbing could remove the stains, the blood of an unknown man she had stolen from the scene of a car accident, a stupid drunk with no license who had wrapped his Chevy truck around a very large oak tree. She was aware of it now as if it were a voice shouting outside a house, shouting passionate verities in a hot sunlight, a voice that cries while people talk insincerely in a darkened room and pretend not to hear. Courtlaw,” Anna said, “and my solicitors, Messrs. "I assure you, Sir, when I left him an hour ago, it was locked.
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