Her target was a fifty-four year old man who lived with his mother, an obese neighborhood woman, a widow named Dawn Plote. “I got your note just in time,” he remarked. ‘Will that be all, ma’am?’ ‘Yes, yes. Michelle was in sight, Lucy could hear her voice, high in the crowd, and saw her blond head bobbing among a sea of faces. You do not need my compliments. His friendship seemed a thing worth having.
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