She killed every month, twelve a year, and was for all intents and purposes a serial killer of middle aged men. Sir John looked about him, and somehow the laugh died away. I will ring if I want you. But one could not count with any confidence upon Capes. The books slid from her arms and fluttered to the floor. She did not see the metal pole swing toward the back of her skull, nor did she feel her own blood spoiling her light hair after the dull crack of metal broke her flesh. A cold shiver came over her.
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