The theme was a masquerade. Make no promises on a night where I have burdened you with such awful knowledge. ‘Oh, my God, Melusine, what have I done?’ Melusine shook her head. She killed every month, twelve a year, and was for all intents and purposes a serial killer of middle aged men. “Perhaps,” he queried, “you wish to avoid being seen about with any one—er— connected with the profession, under present circumstances. That boy—blind as a bat! Why, he hadn't seen the Woman until to-night! From the first chord of the Grieg concerto to the finale of the Chopin ballade, Ruth had sat tensely on the edge of her chair.
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