” Anna smiled very faintly. Her target was a fifty-four year old man who lived with his mother, an obese neighborhood woman, a widow named Dawn Plote. I can’t even make myself care. Her hair was the one part of her that did not exude the air of wealth. She loved to dress the Fritz and Anna in outfits that she stitched from discarded velvet dresses. It was not the type of household where one could come and go at all hours, for this she was glad. There you are, the best client’s chair. You told me he was going back to Newgate after supper, so I mayn't have another opportunity. .
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