Her target was a fifty-four year old man who lived with his mother, an obese neighborhood woman, a widow named Dawn Plote. I could not have committed this robbery. She was lamentably without comparisons; such few young men as she had seen—white men—had been on the beach, pitiful and terrible objects. She had to have him, her body was going crazy for the want of sex. Sure of foot, noiseless, he made the veranda and paused at the side of one of the screened windows. ] CHAPTER XI The second call energized her into action. ’ ‘Well, don’t bite my head off,’ protested Mrs Sindlesham, clearly amused.
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