Her target was a fifty-four year old man who lived with his mother, an obese neighborhood woman, a widow named Dawn Plote. It reminded Ann Veronica of having a tooth stopped. The honey on his tongue turned to ashes. She recognized the face but could not quite place it. This young man, whose features, though rather plain and coarse, bore the strongest impress of genius, and who had a dark gray, penetrating eye, so quick in its glances that it seemed to survey twenty objects at once, and yet only to fasten upon one, bore the honoured name of William Hogarth. “I believed that he was the great multi-millionaire. It would be the culmination of her plan.
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