She wondered vaguely what it was, and then remembered. Of course. The Vera's motor. Harry Johnson's motor yacht. She thought perhaps the yacht had cea...ed its gently rhythmic rolling motion, a rolling that had coddled her to sleep on the deck just like her water bed at home, but then had decided it had not."Mmmm ... Mark?" Lynn murmured quietly, and a faint smile tried to awaken her still sleeping mouth. It was a small mouth, mischievous, almost pixyish but not quite. There were a few strands of. “Sure, do you know where she lives?” Damien shook his head. “Her first name's Polly,” he added helpfully. What the hell, I liked the kid, so I promised I'd track his teacher down for him. Mary knew where Dawn lived, it was just up the road from her dad's house. When we knocked on the door, a middle-aged man, balding, with salt-and-pepper hair. “Hello?” he asked, annoyed. “If you're preaching or selling I'm not interested.” “No, no,” I told him. “Is your daughter, Dawn home.” “Yeah,” he frowned.. More

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