” He unfolded his serviette with fingers which shook all the time. To walk beside him, dressed akin to him, rucksacked and companionable, was bliss in itself; each step she took was like stepping once more across the threshold of heaven. ‘And that Suzanne, the sister of my cousin the vicomte, must choose between Monsieur Charvill and her brother. She killed every month, twelve a year, and was for all intents and purposes a serial killer of middle aged men. The elusive Jane tapped her on the shoulder after class. It was true.
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