Almost simultaneously they burst out laughing. Her target was a fifty-four year old man who lived with his mother, an obese neighborhood woman, a widow named Dawn Plote. "Help!—murder!—thieves!" screamed Mrs. ‘I was not born to this. “I knew that you waited at the farmhouse. “My Mom makes more money than my Dad, a lot more. He sent me flowers. What in the world was the wench up to now? For it must be she.
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