She ran through the backyards of Pinecrest subdivision, piano wire and a slim jim tucked into her pantyhose. There was a tearing sound as the canvas gave way, and the precious portrait ripped apart as the top of the Frenchman’s head came through it. Or perhaps my father once. ’ ‘Gad, but she’s a beauty,’ gasped Hilary, and slammed his sword back in its scabbard. She brought her hands up to her head and ripped out two long chunks of her hair, pulling out shreds of scalp. “My word holds,” she said.
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