It was obviously pitched well, hitting her head at a good thirtyfive miles per hour. She did not see the metal pole swing toward the back of her skull, nor did she feel her own blood spoiling her light hair after the dull crack of metal broke her flesh. Jack hastily retreated, and taking the first means of concealment that occurred to him, descended the cellar steps. I am sure he would go with you. Maggot, dealing him a buffet that sent him reeling several yards backwards. I had that coming.
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