Now Owen Wood had one fair child, Unlike her mother, meek and mild; Her love the draper strove to gain, But she repaid him with disdain. He grabbed her wrist and prised the weapon from her fingers, ignoring her other hand that clawed at his to try to retain the trophy. The well of tears in her eyes was dry. There was a lot of that, John, a great deal of hunger. She ran down alleyways and between buildings, faster than an Olympian, until she could hear his voice no more. . I have unfinished business.
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