She passed down the stairs and into the street. Lucy had passed the house once on the sidewalk, on a rare day when he was shoveling snow. Then she saw the bodies piled in the corner. ” Ann Veronica said nothing. She enjoyed preparing the evening meals, the smells of potatoes roasting in the oven, the stink of onions in the pan, the crackle of chicken frying. And yet to Spurlock it was only the title of a story he would some day write. They may love us, but they love us as the slave loves his captor, not as equals.
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