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Amy wasted no time. As Drakenrot huddled in fear on the worktable, she
grabbed his bone staff and swung out mightily. Blood burst from
Drakenrot's mouth as his cranium caved in with a juicy crunch. "Remember me... as a philanthropist." Drakenrot groaned and slumped dead over the table. The mouse that had frightened him scurried away into the shadows. Amy dropped the staff. She was shaking. She had killed an old man - a demented, incredibly evil old man to be sure, but still a human being. She pictured Drakenrot's wife and children, all bald, evil and opaque eyed, weeping over his corpse, and started crying herself. Couldn't she have just taken Drakenrot's abuse with gentle good humour?
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9/26/2004 2:50:48 AM
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