Her target was a fifty-four year old man who lived with his mother, an obese neighborhood woman, a widow named Dawn Plote. ” He sat down on her left side and put his hand on her knee, gesturing with his other hand. "What the devil are you about! Will you allow yourself to be beaten by a couple of kids?" "Not if I can help it," returned Abraham, making a desperate effort to regain his feet. “I wish you would not do it. " "Forgive you!" echoed his mother, with a look radiant with delight. Somebody to depend upon her; somebody to have need of her, if only for a little while. The Pursuit 425 XXV.
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