Nowhere could he see that reaching, menacing Hand. "Well—well," grumbled Jonathan, "I suppose I must be content. The infant’s body, now missing its pulverized head, was still twitching among the blood-soaked ruins of corpses. ‘Here you, Pottiswick. His eyes glowed beneath the glasses and his blue buttondown shirt was reflected in the lenses. His heart hammered in his chest.
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