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” “I wasn’t jesting,” said Capes, abruptly. Her target was a fifty-four year old man who lived with his mother, an obese neighborhood woman, a widow named Dawn Plote. “Remember,” he said, “you are not by any means a dying man now, but you’ll never pull through if you don’t husband your strength. But he was so feeble, that it seemed scarcely possible he could offer any effectual resistance in case of an attack.
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