But this letter—written by an anonymous provocateur whose name I’lllikely never unearth-was published at an early stage in my career with the clear intent to embarrass andridicule me. I put the story aside. I am not a shape-shifter, Mr. A flashlight.
Night had come to the lonely lands; night, but not darkness. Charlie had said he’d fry up theorders, but Robin had asked him to go out back and feed the chickens. Then let us go down to the underground, for I know Musette of old and I do not fear her, as much as I fear she-who-made-me. Jim took it to a car wash, brought it back, and returned my wallet to the niche in my office whereit’s kept at all times.
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