Boredom, which had begun as a mild infection, now took him over completely. No activity seemed worth the doing, no conversation worth having.
Eventually they covered her and all he could see was a mound of tangled tulips bent low over her body, which was kicking to the last.
“You don’t believe in ghosts?”
“Well,” Milkman smiled—“I’m willing to, I guess.”
“You better believe, boy. They’re here.”
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