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the works of anthony barnhart

pki excerpt

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Rupp’s hard feet hammered over the pavement as he rushed down the left street facing the Eiffel tower; the spray from the fountains of water from the reflection pool were condemning him for what he was about to do, were dragging him away, tempting his exhausted, aching body and tormented soul to take a rest, just a rest, and bathe in the spray from the reflection pool, to take a well-deserved break, a vacation from the horror.

But it was all a play on words, a temptation from the prince of lies.

Rupp wouldn’t stop; he had failed only once; he wouldn’t fail again.