Books: Excerpt

"It had to be someone who knew where I kept my marijuana. That much was demanded by logic ... I realized that as I met my friends on the street in the day or two to come, I would distrust the look in every eye. I was like a man plummeting down a slippery slope who finds a little horn of ice to grasp, but so soon as he embraces it, the projection breaks loose. I saw that if I could not decide the first question, which was: Put it!—Was I the killer?—then I could — not stop the slide."


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