Now then," he added more calmly, "I am ready to die. Also Lucy, who had been so much her friend. We meant to make it dinner and a theatre, but you were not home. She cursed the treachery of memory, its frailty and spottiness. Certainly I cannot kill you if you tell me to do so. I had no idea. All the rest is humbug and delicacy. Lucy had tried for years to find a way of not getting blood all over herself when she made a kill.
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