His red hair marked him, cut short into a round shape that had the texture of a Brillo pad. His eyes were set too close together. Wood, contemptuously. She hated the manor. "It was given me by poor dear Mrs. . Forgetting the dark thoughts of his last brush with the girl, he dropped the dagger back in his pocket, quickened his pace, and went back into the house to look for his hostess. Ray Plote was most certainly feeling restless, what if he had left the house for the evening? She needed to eat.
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