It would have been better had he succeeded in murdering her, she thought. I would be chased by every curious party on this planet, by vampireseekers, by witch-hunters, by researchers, you name it. Then he turned round and gazed thoughtfully at the particular spot in the fog where Courtlaw had disappeared. Ann Veronica wiped a scalpel, put a card over a watch-glass containing thin shreds of embryonic guinea-pig swimming in mauve stain, and dismantled her microscope. The gun flew from his hand, clacking on the floor. A pretty piece. Now how in the world was he to get rid of the husband? His luck was in. Paris, 18.
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