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. Jack Kimble stiffened, looking at his interrogator with wary anger in his face. You know the sort of thing. Here a little delay occurred. Last time— you made me feel snubbed. ‘As for your dagger—’ She held out her hand palm up, as if she expected him to give her the weapon. He sat before a desk littered all over with papers and official looking documents.
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