He sat back in an easy chair with a hand upon each of the elbows, and looked steadfastly into the fire. Gerald guessed she was biting her tongue on an explosive retort as she eyed him. “Good-bye, Miss Pellissier, and success to you,” he said. He looked like a French boy soldier she had once glimpsed marching towards his death in one of the battles they would later call the Hundred Years War. She had always wondered when they would start being able to trace her kills, with their expanding systems of criminal databases and computers, and now it was starting to happen.
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