Instead she searched her heart for what was really bothering her, and asked, “Why ‘retire’ them, My Lord? Why not make them turn themselves in?�...�“I hate waste. They’re no good to me in prison.”“You collect torches, My Lord?”“Watch your tone, cocksucker. I never know what I’ll need.”Her eyes fluttered; it hurt her to think she was displeasing me. But she had one last question. She had to know. Eyes lowered she asked, “You tortured them, didn’t you, My Lord?”“I tortured you too, slave. What’s your. Next out, a syringe that I filled and squirted an exact amount of the blue into each dart. Next was a measured amount of the pink into each dart. Seal 'em, a quick shake to mix fluids together and then one dart into each pellet gun. This stuff was another gift from Rambo and very fast acting, but it had to be mixed within half an hour of use or it would just turn to crap. It also wouldn't knock out my targets for very long."Ten minutes."I made sure the guns were safed before putting them into. He certainly had no complaints in this department either. Terry wasn’t a fancy cook, but what she cooked never left him hungry and her meals were always tasty and well balanced.She also varied the meals, and he had gone a month before she repeated one. Dale hadn’t eaten so well since leaving home ten years before when his mother had basically pushed him out of the nest and told him to get a life at the tender age of eighteen.He had suspected his single mum wanted her lover to move in, and a. Meeting and falling in love with Catherine seemed to be providentially inspired. It was late summer of 1915 and the campus was bustling with new students, all vying for classes and dormitory space. The lines were long. The girl behind me in line bumped into me and my registration papers fell to the floor. As I bent down to pick them up, she did, too! She apologized, and introduced herself as Catherine Atkinson from Yorkshire. We were both 18, and this was our first time away from home.We were.