He waited, silent, in the shadow of a large elm. His eyes were fastened on a pool of light down the road. He twisted the woolen scarf nervously, around and around his palms. Soon she would come. It was written in the stars. Finally Jenny Warren left the protective light of the streetlamp behind. She walked fast, her shoes tapping on the sidewalk. In the shadow of the night, the watcher smiled. His hands tightened their grip on the scarf. "You should have paid attention, Jenny," he whispered to himself. "Didn't you read your horoscope today?"
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