She would take the items with her; bury the items and her bloodstained clothes in one of the many sinkholes in the huge landfill/garbage dump on the south side of town. “Because I hate you!” She spat. "Why does she weep?" Ruth wanted to know. She stole the opportunity to peer at his departing figure from the closed curtains of the front room window, his shoulders slumped forward, his posture and his ego slightly deflated. He must fight the thought continually, day in and day out. It still failed in something. She had, it was true, accepted doubtfully the pen he had offered. ’ ‘You, perhaps?’ she flung at him furiously, stepping out from behind the desk. "Where is your accursed master?" demanded Blueskin, holding the sword to his throat.
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