‘So it would appear. Mrs. People hounded him about the disappearances mercilessly for weeks after the concert, first the police, then the Becks, then people from school. Think! You could not have done it. “I want my life to be beaten gold just in order to make it a fitting setting for yours. Supper was quickly served; the oldest bottle of wine was brought from the cellar; the strongest barrel of ale was tapped; but not one of the party could eat or drink—their hearts were too full. Wild horses wouldn’t drag it out of me, even I knew anything, which I don’t. She had eaten them, murdered them routinely, and yet he loved her still.
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