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           Thesmellhithimfirst,andLouisrecoiled,gagging.Hehungontheedgeofthegrave,breathinghard,andjustwhenhethoughthehadhisgorgeundercontrol,hisentirebig,tastelessmealcameupinaspurt.Hethrewuponthefarsideofthegraveandthenputhisheadagainsttheground,panting.Atlastthenauseapassed.Teethclampedtogether,hetooktheflashlightoutofhisarmpitandshoneitdownintotheopencoffin.

           Adeephorrorthatwasverynearlyawestoleoverhimitwasthesortoffeelingusuallyreservedfortheworstnightmares,theonesyoucanbarelyrememberuponawakening.

           Gage’sheadwasgone.

           Louis’shandsweretremblingsobadlyhehadtoholdtheflashlightwithbothhands,grippingitthewayapolicemanistaughttogriphisservicerevolveronthetargetrange.Stillthebeamjitteredbackandforthanditwasamomentbeforehecouldtrainthepencil-thinbeambackintothegrave.

           It’simpossible,hetoldhimself,justrememberthatwhatyouthoughtyousawisimpossible.

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