“Hotel Ritz!” Chapter XXXI ANNA’S TEA PARTY “I suppose you haven’t the least idea who I am,” Lady Lescelles said, as she settled herself in Anna’s most comfortable chair. She killed every month, twelve a year, and was for all intents and purposes a serial killer of middle aged men. He came along, he said, just to call, with large, loud apologies, radiantly kind and good. They sell only their talents, not their bodies; they are not girls of the street.
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