It was red and chapped. "My sister the wife of one condemned felon! the parent of another! It cannot be. Jack dropped the knife, and walked sullenly aside. She drank and drank until his body was a lifeless husk, as light as a mannequin, virtually hollow of all but the fluid in his bones. ‘Where are you taking me?’ she asked, assuming a fearful accent. Her target was a fifty-four year old man who lived with his mother, an obese neighborhood woman, a widow named Dawn Plote.
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