She could feel Michelle’s nervousness leaching into her spine. I can’t imagine Londoners—particularly interested in me. She went about the gory business of disposing of the bodies, cutting them up with a large butcher knife and packing the light dry pieces of their bloodless remains in a double ply garbage bag, pieces that looked like overcooked, ruined meat. They heard his footsteps descending the stone staircase, growing fainter and fainter. He stood with his hands in his pockets looking at Miss Klegg’s back. With this view he struck off into a narrow street on the left, and soon entered a small alehouse, over the door of which hung the sign of the "Welsh Trumpeter.
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