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- Going on for a mile and a quarter, D halted his horse. Mortal eyes would
- have seen nothing but rain, but D could discern the black shape of the
- schoolhouse wavering some five hundred yards ahead.
- “Lost the scent. Your turn,” he said to his left hand. His palm puffed and
- swelled into a masculine face that needed no introduction—the ghastly
- countenanced carbuncle.
- In a tone of undisguised displeasure it said, “Sheesh, and right in the
- middle of a good dream. Oh, raining, is it?” No sooner had he said this than
- he opened his tiny mouth to greedily gulp down a share of the torrential
- downpour.
- “What about the scent?” D pressed him. There was a frigid anger in his
- voice. “Keep your drawers on. Just because I’ve been asleep don’t mean I
- haven’t worked up an appetite. East of here. Four hundred yards, give or
- take a smidge.”
- It seemed both of them—D and his companion in his palm—were able
- to catch the bloody scent of the beast that’d disappeared in the heavy rain.
- In less than a minute, D was making his way through the entrance to a lone
- farmhouse—the same home where a mere hour earlier Mr. Meyer had
- encountered tragedy.
- 4 - 2
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