Leave him be. Oh, shit. Can't do that. Best have a look.It was a person; a young person, and there was a pulse, though the skin was pallid and icy to ...he touch. Shake the shoulder. "Come on, rise and shine! You can't stay here." It groaned and stirred only slightly – more of a shiver, really. I swallowed my repugnance – even in that cold air there was a definite aroma rising from the bundle – got a hand under and got him sitting, then hauled him to his feet. The legs buckled and he would have. Now! How much did that cost?" 250 bucks." It was high, Mother knew it was high. She opened her purse, laid the 1911 Colt on the table and counted out 250 dollars. "I need a receipt. It's a tax write-off."More snaps of the cameras, this time of the gun laying on the table."Gentlemen, I use the term in it's loosest form, if one picture of my daughter appears in any publication you will hear from my lawyer. I will not sue one. I'll use the shotgun theory, and sue all of you. She is 12 years old, a. More

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