Her target was a fifty-four year old man who lived with his mother, an obese neighborhood woman, a widow named Dawn Plote. He turned his back on that temptation. Abruptly she got out of bed, smoothed her sheet and straightened her pillow and lay down, and fell almost instantly asleep. Conceiving himself called upon, as the intimate friend of the deceased, to pay this last tribute of respect to her memory, he appeared as one of the chief mourners. ’ There was a pause. They're on the forward lounge in the saloon. The clock struck half-past ten. ” Her mind drifted into a speculation about her sister.
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