I guess she used to pick on her for being big and fat. Horrors abounded in every passageway as each turn could bring a vision of a poor woman running from her screaming plague-infested son or a bloated corpse of a rich man whose mouth lolled open, showing gaps where someone had pried out a few golden teeth. The perspiration stood out upon his forehead. A quarter of an hour passed. Her sensitive ears could hear her foster mother snoring in front of the television. Saviour's Stairs. Wood resounded from below. . No matter what the fire and force of his passion, it falters eventually, and forever after smoulders or goes out.
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