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oment and catch my breath before moving on to his home.
As we stepped inside the house, I was surprised to see how empty it
seemed. He glanced at me, and saw my puzzled expression. "I rent the house,"
he explained. "And I am not yet fortunate enough to have found a roomate." He
reached up to turn on the light, and a chandelier overhead lit the foyer.
I should explain. The houses along the streets by this cemetery were
the oldest houses in the town, and many were decorated in keeping with the time
in which they were built. Some were almost museums, and were even open to the
public part time. Apparently, however, the owner of this one had decided to
rent out the house. I decided that the stranger must be a student at the
college. No one my age should be able to afford the rent of a place such as
this.
He motioned for me to follow him and led me down into the cellar, where
the washroom was. He then left me wish the washer while he went to get a
change of clothes for me to borrow. When he had returned with the clothes, I
quickly motioned for him to leave the room and then stripped, throwing the
clothes -- caked with mud from my mad dash through the graveyard -- into the
washer and hastily donned the large t-shirt and sweatpants. I then used the
sink in the co
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