On the stranger's appearance, she was seated near the window busily occupied with her needle. He had almost forced himself upon her one night after a particularly bloody raid of a thatched cottage. “Number 13, please, cabman. His eyes glowed beneath the glasses and his blue buttondown shirt was reflected in the lenses. She didn’t choose her man. “Hi Lucy. Maggot. She dropped the locket into its sweet hiding place. “My friend,” she said, “I have been your pupil for two years. He saw now that it was merely a boy. He’ll do. I can smell you. “You did good!” She closed her eyes and rested in the moment, imagining a normal life where she would go to college, have babies with John, watch her children have children, live, and die as she had always wanted to. "My coat!" he repeated, his glance burning into hers.
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