’ ‘I beg your pardon?’ said Miss Froxfield frostily. She had eaten them, murdered them routinely, and yet he loved her still. She went about the gory business of disposing of the bodies, cutting them up with a large butcher knife and packing the light dry pieces of their bloodless remains in a double ply garbage bag, pieces that looked like overcooked, ruined meat. Your mother, for what it’s worth to you—for there’s nothing for you here, by God!—was the woman I chose for Nicholas.
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