She killed every month, twelve a year, and was for all intents and purposes a serial killer of middle aged men. "You are my prisoner. ‘It is, you understand, that Monsieur Charvill did not—how do you say in English?—having an eye to an eye—’ ‘Didn’t see eye to eye with the Vicomte Valade? That I can well believe. He could not contain his satisfaction, but chuckled, and rubbed his hands with delight. I charged the thief-taker, as was the fact, with having robbed me, by means of the lad Sheppard, whom he instigated to deed, of the very pocket-book he produced in evidence against me; but it was of no avail—I couldn't obtain a hearing. She spied him sitting on his armless black couch, his feet splayed as he stared at his television blankly.
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