Her target was a fifty-four year old man who lived with his mother, an obese neighborhood woman, a widow named Dawn Plote. She threw her arms around Rollo's neck and laid her cheek upon the flea-bitten head. I could not become an Oracle. It surprised her she hadn’t thought of it before! She tried to explain that she was going to pay him forty pounds without fail next week. Spurlock bent his head to the rail. “Poor Lucy!” Cathy exclaimed as she rushed in the door, umbrella sheathed.
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