But in a moment she believed she understood. He had hurt her. I warned her not to say a word, for it would mean the death of everyone in the Palazzo, including you. It's always hard work for a rich man's son to stand alone. Winifred instantly picked it up. She cried and sobbed in fits. 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. It’s an instinct. "Aye—to pretend to her that you don't care. Sometimes he was obviously irritable and uncomfortable and unfortunate in his efforts to seem at ease.
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