All of a sudden, there was movement behind him. The modern parts of the book were inspired by my worldview of high school as pure, unadulterated Hell. It was Missy and Michelle in her grandmother's old Buick. His gangling body was clothed in rusty twill trousers and a long black seersucker coat, buttoned to the throat, around which ran a collar which would have marked him the world over as a man of the Word. The Night-Cellar XVIII.
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