It hung from the centre of a stout pole, each end of which rested upon the calloused shoulder of a coolie; an ordinary Occidental chair with a foot-rest. Too bad he’s not interested in any girl who’s not a musician. She opened it and drew out a letter, and folded within it were the notes she had sent off to Ramage that day. This is clear over my head. Until that moment, Jarvis had imagined the child to be safe in the wet-nurse’s cottage. 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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