"Enough," said the widow, gratefully. She would take the items with her; bury the items and her bloodstained clothes in one of the many sinkholes in the huge landfill/garbage dump on the south side of town. At the least, the tales had the ability to make her forget where she was; which was something in their favour. A male voice, vibrant with terror, yelled out hoarsely. " Here she began to blubber loudly for sympathy. Shame and electricity coursed through her veins, flowing directly from him in a flash flood. The Ragged Edge. He was plainly attired in a riding-dress and boots of the period, and wore a hanger by his side.
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