"Lover's quarrel?" said a voice.|
Martha Lawrence quivered.
Dirk Lawrence stood behind the bench. The reek of whisky surrounded him. "My little Martha" Dirk said dreamily. "My little nymph."
"Martha," Ellery said, "you'd better go."
"Yes, Martha, my love, you do that," said Dirk. "On account of I'm going to teach this dirty feist to keep his dirty paws off another man's wife...."
Dirk backhanded Martha' face across the bench and she disappeared. Involuntarily, Ellery stooped to look for her. He never reached his knees. The blow nearly tore his head off and he blacked out.
16 januari 2005 / Johan Blixt / firstname.lastname@example.org