Ruth met him in the hall as he was following his family into the dining room. Her hair touched water, becoming like the seaweed in its velvet slickness. Then she saw him. Here and there, patches of flesh adhered to the bones, and the dank dripping hair hanging about what had once been the face, gave it a ghastly appearance. He began shoveling dirt over the bodies. “Lucy Albert. ‘All right, Trodger. A ragged gray moustache drooped from the corners of his mouth and a ragged wisp of whisker hung from his chin.
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