” Michelle said, a cruel inflection lowering her voice. The wheel and the navigating instruments were sternward, under a spread of heavy canvas, a protection against rain and sun. Her target was a fifty-four year old man who lived with his mother, an obese neighborhood woman, a widow named Dawn Plote. ” “Of course,” he said, reaching out his hand tentatively for his hat, “I could go away even now. "I'm never satisfied with a first attempt. Michelle walked towards the sloping Victorian stairs. ” The full significance of her words did not instantly appear to him.
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