A recent widow, sleeping badly in the unaccustomed emptiness of the king-sized bed, ha lf heard and ha If dreamed a sound of screaming. When she was fully awake it didn't go away. Puzzled, she went to the window. There was nothing there but the quiet lawns of her condo village. She opened the windows—not easily; people in hundred-and-fifty-thousand-dollar condos seldom sought outside air—and the screams were instantly louder, with smells of rotting garbage. Was someone being raped? Murdered? But neither of those were conceivable to her, in the quiet elegance of Cabrini Gardens.


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