Sir James Thornhill, then, rose. And if the woman is not a rival, she must be—yes, that must be it. “I hope you will not compel me to say again that I do not know the man’s name, nor, to the best of my belief, have I ever seen him before in my life. “I wonder if you give me a thought. Her target was a fifty-four year old man who lived with his mother, an obese neighborhood woman, a widow named Dawn Plote. ‘It does not matter to me if he comes or no, madame.
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