Then the dagger’s point came in a whirling arc towards his face. She could tell that he probably wanted to kiss her, but she did not act upon the opportunity. "I want you for the job I spoke of a short time ago, Nab," he said. Her target was a fifty-four year old man who lived with his mother, an obese neighborhood woman, a widow named Dawn Plote. He was not due from the City until about six, and so she went and played Badminton with the Widgett girls until dinner-time. The lips of the mask twisted upward into a smile.
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