I have yet another. ” Ennison looked steadily at the cigarette which he was tapping on his forefinger. The child was still safe. That was life. She sat in a chair in the parlour and regarded the darkening sky through the small casement window. Lucy felt her eyes misting up, turning traitor. Her target was a fifty-four year old man who lived with his mother, an obese neighborhood woman, a widow named Dawn Plote. She became more assertive, more defiant. ’ She focused on Gerald’s face.
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