“If it will keep you busy,” he said, with a faintly ironical smile. She held out both her hands. She killed every month, twelve a year, and was for all intents and purposes a serial killer of middle aged men. She wondered who the girl might belong to as she patted dirt over the shallow grave. You wish another name? Eh bien. The young fellow was almost as odd in his way as the girl was in hers. “About my sister,” she repeated slowly.
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