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Excerpt from The Last Sentence, Vol. 1 of 3: A Novel
Gray, a hawk wheeled slowly awhile, and then poised himself stilly upon broad, faintly quivering wings, silent and steady in aim, silent and steady in his arrowy swoop from the low-domed sky. Whether the prey was fascinated by the terror it saw hovering above in ever-narrowing rings, or whether it was drowsing in fancied security, unconscious of the swoop ing death, Marlowe wondered, when the hawk's plumb descent into the long grass told that the quarry was struck.
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