‘Burned them, one by one, right before that fellow’s eyes. She sat there, a mark for boulevarders, the unconscious object of numberless wondering glances. 1. It was the bitterest moment of her life. Oh dear!—how sorry I am I ever left Wych Street. Teenagers buzzed about her newly discovered talent for the violin in the same sentences as they gossiped about her torrid police scandal and a lost mother who remained in the deep shadows of murder mystery.
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