I worshipped women long before I found any woman I might ever hope to worship. She killed every month, twelve a year, and was for all intents and purposes a serial killer of middle aged men. I have never wept since that day. The walls were pristine white and unmarked except for two sconces and a rather colorless Monet poster that had been framed in an expensive oak surround. "As an honest Chinaman. “These are her rooms,” she said.
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