His father spoke for him. He stabbed a kitchen knife between her ribs. Diane did not hear the footsteps on her brick patio or the audible click of the back door lock being compromised. “No! My father. ” He stood still, looking at her. ” She put her face closer to his. “Look at me. ‘Damnation!’ Confused, he released her, and in an instant she had darted away and was running down the garden. “How do you feel?” she asked. Not like my father.
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