“I know. Jerking forward, she jabbed backwards. It was a copy of the pencil sketch taken of him nine years ago by Winifred, and awakened a thousand tender recollections. “Come sit with me, beautiful. “But we only aid the beccamorti by giving them our business! I refuse to pay exorbitant prices for wood coffins and burial for lesser servants who could just as easily be dragged into the pit! Let the dead bury the dead!” “You fool! It is the gross lack of sanitation you speak of that has brought us to this very end. I’m right again now. The tall, blond boys, right?” “That’s them. She had found a couple of articles about him over the years, blurbs about the opening of a theater that mentioned him. But a woman’s life is all chance. Full as she was of him, it felt good to shower her kill out of her hair. This was a much more serious task than he anticipated. “I cannot conceive,” he said, “how any other occupation could ever have occurred to you. She would always be waiting upon this boy, he mused. Bit priggish, isn’t it? And if he only knew it—so absurd.
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