” She looked down at the flowers, still in shock, and gently laid them over her arm like a Miss America candidate practicing a crowning ceremony at a pajama party. She heard the bamboo curtain rattle slightly. She cut a deep gash into her own arm with a steel screw, loosing drops of her own blood onto the floorboards. ” “What do you want?” he asked, bluntly. She killed every month, twelve a year, and was for all intents and purposes a serial killer of middle aged men.
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