That is what terrified her: the consciousness that nothing in her life would be continuous, that she would no sooner form friendships (like the present) than relentless fate would thrust her into a new circle. She had always wondered when they would start being able to trace her kills, with their expanding systems of criminal databases and computers, and now it was starting to happen. "The only disguise I ever put on is a dress-suit, and I look as natural as a pig at a Mahomedan dinner. It was a tale of battle, murder, and sudden death on the New York waterfront. Wood, who had been absent on business during the greater part of the day, returned (perhaps not altogether undesignedly) at an earlier hour than was expected, to his dwelling in Wych Street, Drury Lane; and was about to enter his workshop, when, not hearing any sound of labour issue from within, he began to suspect that an apprentice, of whose habits of industry he entertained some doubt, was neglecting his employment. I—I am a lovesick idiot, and not accountable for my actions. As she averted her gaze, a terrible idea crossed her.
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