“He began to chop. Over the next few hours he chopped up the room and when he was finished he began on another, carving away at the house from the most extraneous rooms toward the center. Day after day he proceeded with increasing ferocity to demolish the house. With each breach of the house's shelter, with each assault through another wall, he felt the sick exhilaration of another hope collapsing before the hopelessness of the night that flooded in through the house's gashes. With his axe he st...alked his own life as Sally did with her knife. He cast on the fire of the stove the splinters of the house until gradually one room after another disappeared; he was sure he heard the scream of smoldering iceflies rise through the chimney above the rooftop. Polly was so cold he would have set the whole house on fire if it was the only way to keep her warm. But Sally wasn't cold at all. Sally was hot. At any moment Etcher thought she'd go up in the dark cloud of her own immolation. There was no barring her door this time against cops and priests, God and Death; Etcher was hacking up the doors for the purpose of the fire.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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