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Her target was a fifty-four year old man who lived with his mother, an obese neighborhood woman, a widow named Dawn Plote. He dropped the key on the counterpane. She fled. ” “To bad rubbish. But at length, there was a click, and with a swish, the panel of painted books swung outward from the wall. I need scarcely ask whether you've executed your appointed task, my dear? You're never behindhand. I find you an impenetrable enigma.
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