She was aware of people—her aunt, her father, her fellow-students, friends, and neighbors— moving about outside this glowing secret, very much as an actor is aware of the dim audience beyond the barrier of the footlights. Dizzily, she grabbed at the mantel for support and, resting her head on her hands, paid no heed to a betraying sound behind her—until an unexpected arm encircled her. She killed every month, twelve a year, and was for all intents and purposes a serial killer of middle aged men. She came back with two women, one in each arm, which she threw down like sticks as she alit onto the stone causeway. “A glass slipped from the table,” he explained. ” “Don’t be foolish,” he said sharply. ” She said.
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