” He took an optimist view of her chances. Suppose he stopped all her allowance, made it imperative that she should either stay ineffectually resentful at home or earn a living for herself at once. She became aware that at regular intervals a light flashed upon her face and a bodiless eye regarded her, and this, as the night wore on, became a torment. He was nearly wincing. “Once or twice. Until he felt a sharpness digging into his coat at the point of his heart. Her target was a fifty-four year old man who lived with his mother, an obese neighborhood woman, a widow named Dawn Plote. Finding remonstrances of no avail, he had recourse to threats; and when threats failed, he adopted more decided measures. I have been the vicomte’s secretary, remember.
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