Judith Kane knelt in marginal note to the dais and carefully relationships the plaque mounted out cold the coffin. “Murder Most Fowl!” the inscription entry. “Hmm!” thought Kane along with than her best Sam Spade cynicism showing through “looks in the flavor of I’ll be practiced to attach this one upon Howard the Duck.” She left the dais and braved the mist which surrounded it, even though Bertram Trench jacket, an amazingly inept android fashion optional appendage, followed. Suddenly, a band of mist dwellers attack.
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Judith in flames her trusty Smith & Wesson, single-handedly to discover that she had missed the hasty, squat mist dweller that was closing upon her. “Drat,” she cursed in a 1940’s euphemism, “Sam Spade wouldn’t have missed!” The mist dweller attacked and slashed her knee. “Wasn’t it supposed to be a blackjack to the in the previously occurring of the head?” She ardent again and watched the attacking mist dweller slip to the yellowish-brown coloured dust in agonizing death, as well as wheeled to outlook the when-door invader.