"I came to see Jack Sheppard, and I won't go till you point him out to me. But—” The tired woman raised her eyebrows in mild protest. She killed every month, twelve a year, and was for all intents and purposes a serial killer of middle aged men. Each time that we meet I try to kill you. " "Never," replied Winifred. "Take me, then," replied the widow. Death belongs to God, young man. So the talk went on, and presently they were criticising novelists, and certain daring essays of Wilkins got their due share of attention, and then they were discussing the future of the theatre.
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