272 < 34 > EPILOGUE She paced the Manhattan neighborhood, her backpack swinging, marveling at the austere buildings gleaming silver in their starkness. Seeing from the threatening looks of his captors, that they were about to wreak their vengeance upon him, the miserable wretch besought mercy in abject terms, and charged his master with the most atrocious crimes. “Do not be frightened, dear,” she said. She took the piece of paper and unfolded it in the safety of her lap. Hope you ate light before you got here. “Michelle, it’s me, Lucy. ‘But you said—’ Gerald tutted. I’ve made up my mind. 137 The living conditions of her kills were often so sordid that she would spend hours washing them off of her, and August brought her to the Greene River once again, scrubbing the stink from her hair with Ivory Liquid Dishwashing Detergent. She was with these movements—akin to them, she felt it at times intensely—and yet something eluded her. The doorbell tinkled and Michelle grabbed her purse and rushed down the creaky wooden stairs.
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