Her target was a fifty-four year old man who lived with his mother, an obese neighborhood woman, a widow named Dawn Plote. “The walk has given me an appetite, and I do not feel like waiting till five o’clock. He was waiting in the outer hall as she tiptoed in. She colored faintly. Joe, my foster dad, was a heroin and booze addict. She crept out of the shadows. On this fresh outburst of the storm, Wood threw himself instinctively into the bottom of the boat, and clasping the little orphan to his breast, endeavoured to prepare himself to meet his fate.
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