"We've no time for any Bedlam scenes now. ’ ‘Well, don’t blame me if you get your head blown off. ‘But Gérard—if you mean the fellow Alderley who was making eyes at Yolande—is not here. It had thrust her back with an undignified scuffle, with vulgar comedy, with an unendurable, scornful grin. The clouds were nearly black with rain, threatening to spill sleet in daggers and torrents. He took her there on the cold, dirty floor, his nails digging into her back, his teeth sinking into her breasts. Because of the woman’s pregnant status, a panic had spread in the county that a serial murderer was afoot, but she had made sure to copy the crimes of a famous serial killer that she had read about in the paper to cover herself and mislay blame. “Where is she?” He would yell even louder until she was sure that people in faraway fishing boats could probably hear him. Let her see what she could make here. She had already killed more than she wanted to count, yet she had counted them still.
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