She thought of leaving the Beck house less and less these days, though the suitcase remained packed underneath her creaky bed. She had never expected John capable of saying such things, of thinking such macabre ideas. The entrance of the house 85 was grand, and upon entering she was immediately greeted by John’s mother, a tall, thin woman quite a few years older than Cathy Beck. His nose was large but also fine and angular, tapering to a point at the end like a nobleman’s.
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