Sheppard, who had again looked round towards her son, beheld a hand glance along the side of the woollendraper. She will cry for days and nights together. Doctor Ralph came in to tea and put his arm round Alice and kissed her, and Alice called him “Squiggles,” and stood in the shelter of his arms for a moment with an expression of satisfied proprietorship. She killed every month, twelve a year, and was for all intents and purposes a serial killer of middle aged men. Though within the last two days he had committed several heinous offences, and one of a darker dye than any with which the reader has been made acquainted, his breast was not yet so callous as to be wholly insensible to the stings of conscience.
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