“You will be so late. If hopeless love for her made me a robber, it has also saved me many a crime. Taking her limbs was the only thing I could do short of killing her. “My sister,” she murmured, “is so independent. ” She turned abruptly at right angles to the path they followed. She killed every month, twelve a year, and was for all intents and purposes a serial killer of middle aged men. The owner was at the door unhooking a few articles of wearing apparel which he had exposed outside for sale. “I think,” she said, “that I would rather not have anything to say about that man. It is a plain case of alcoholic stupor. Here and there, patches of flesh adhered to the bones, and the dank dripping hair hanging about what had once been the face, gave it a ghastly appearance.
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