Although Martha did not know it, she had her pistol and her daggers, and her knife. She saw its depraved eyes, but worse were the glittering teeth as it smiled. She staggered to the fireplace and thrust it into the heart of the dying flames. "Mac, you old son-of-a-gun!" "Got a man's breakfast?" McClintock demanded to know. ‘Then open it quickly. She would be extraordinarily interesting as a metaphysical study. This was no night for the indulgence of dreamy musing.
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