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datatime: 2022-09-25 17:14:07 Author:pltRSMQl

'Speak for yourself,' hissed Balberith. 'What do you know?'

'Nice one,' chuckled Gressil. 'A nice loose movement, you know what I mean?'

'Then keep a watchful eye upon them, my precious.' Mother Demdike broke wind and tittered as the fire turned green. 'You'll need a firm hand once they're free.'

'Don't know. I am monitoring all CIA, FBI and police computer networks. All forensic reports, scene-of-crime material evidence, and there's plenty of that. Fingerprints are not on file. Clothing fibres are a possible, very up-market stuff. Exclusive. I am following that up.'

'Don't know. I am monitoring all CIA, FBI and police computer networks. All forensic reports, scene-of-crime material evidence, and there's plenty of that. Fingerprints are not on file. Clothing fibres are a possible, very up-market stuff. Exclusive. I am following that up.'

'Good. But make haste. I want him found and I want him brought before me. Do you understand?' That was ranting, glaring and foot-stamping. Jonathan Crawford could learn a lot from this man.

'Let Sonneillon seek him out with your modern wonders.'

'Charities,' Olivier cackled. Wormwood blanked his screen.

'Too slow. There is no peace for me until he is destroyed.'

Wormwood turned on her. 'Tell me of my assassin. My Nemesis.'

'Too slow. There is no peace for me until he is destroyed.'

'Nice one,' chuckled Gressil. 'A nice loose movement, you know what I mean?'

Mother Demdike, who had escaped previous mention, tore a garish relic of the Reagan years from its frame and flung it into the fire. Nancy with the laughing eyes melted into the flames.

'That's because you are an idle fuckwit,' coughed Carnivean. 'May pisspots rain upon your head.'

Wormwood nodded gravely. 'Keep at it. Sonneillon. What of my would-be assassin?'

'That's because you are an idle fuckwit,' coughed Carnivean. 'May pisspots rain upon your head.'

'Enough' Wormwood raised a remote control as a pistol. 'You will speak only when you are spoken to, or I will blank you out.'

'I'd wear him out, dearie.' Demdike fluttered her mouldy skirts, a nest of rats scurried from beneath them.

'You now have control over the five major banks. The industrial corporations, business holdings, the stock market...'

Wormwood nodded gravely. 'Keep at it. Sonneillon. What of my would-be assassin?'

'Charities,' Olivier cackled. Wormwood blanked his screen.

Wormwood's eyes narrowed. 'Who is he?'

'Enough' Wormwood raised a remote control as a pistol. 'You will speak only when you are spoken to, or I will blank you out.'

'I know that. They feed upon the thoughts of men. They can gorge themselves a while longer. Now tighten your sphincter, you evil-smelling crone.'

Wormwood nodded gravely. 'Keep at it. Sonneillon. What of my would-be assassin?'

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