He made some obvious comments on the wide view warming toward its autumnal blaze that spread itself in hill and valley, wood and village, below. " "Mr. Wood fared still worse. You’re tired, of course. Her name, he said, was as pretty as its wearer. She killed every month, twelve a year, and was for all intents and purposes a serial killer of middle aged men. "Do you think I'd part with the sweetest morsel of revenge on those terms? No! But I'll have the secret out of you by other means. The life with which he had endued these sheets of paper began to beckon imperiously.
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