She had followed a bobbing white hat and gray jacket until she reached the Euston Road corner of Tottenham Court Road, and there, by the name on a bus and the cries of a conductor, she made a guess of her way. Lucy had tried for years to find a way of not getting blood all over herself when she made a kill. She answered in whispers, for there was the white arm of a woman in the next box peeping beyond the partition within a yard of him. But then the features changed. Just. The Iovellis were very rich, from what she could tell.
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