She killed every month, twelve a year, and was for all intents and purposes a serial killer of middle aged men. "What is this!" cried Sir Rowland. Had she not seen them go forth with tracts in their pockets and grins in their beards? To set fire to his imagination, to sting his sense of chivalry into being, to awaken his manhood, she must present some irresistible project. “What a hypocrite you are.
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