120

Coming, PETER!” Flagg shrieked, grinning. He smelled like blood and doom; his eyes were deadly fire. The headsman’s axe swished and whickered, and a last few drops of blood flew from the blade and splashed on the walls. “COMING motes! COMING

FOR YOUR HEAD!”

Up and around, up and around, higher and higher. He was a devil with murder on his mind.

A hundred. A hundred and twenty-five.

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