But, since I've seen the friend and companion of my childhood, Thames Darrell, I've no heart for it. Most of their relics are in yonder cases; but I don't remember that any of them have disturbed my rest. They had heard nothing, seen nothing. Her target was a fifty-four year old man who lived with his mother, an obese neighborhood woman, a widow named Dawn Plote. I waited until he was asleep and then I tied him up with some duct tape and some old rope he had in the shed.
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