Her target was a fifty-four year old man who lived with his mother, an obese neighborhood woman, a widow named Dawn Plote. Be a sport, and pile it all on me!" He went to bed. Love and lavender, he thought, perhaps wistfully. Mr. ” “It is for your good—your good only I am thinking,” he declared. ’ The snaking suspicion rolled through his mind again. ’ He added, as alarm spread over the lad’s face, ‘Don’t concern yourself. ’ ‘Let’s. Russell trouble, a good lot of trouble. These daughters! He gnawed his pen and reflected, tore the sheet up, and began again. Puffy blue curtains dressed every oakstained window.
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