Hang the wench! Roding was right. I love my husband. She shut the door behind her. Her bald head had swollen on her shoulders, puffy with fresh blood that ringed her mouth. “But we only aid the beccamorti by giving them our business! I refuse to pay exorbitant prices for wood coffins and burial for lesser servants who could just as easily be dragged into the pit! Let the dead bury the dead!” “You fool! It is the gross lack of sanitation you speak of that has brought us to this very end. “I have always,” she admitted calmly, “taken a certain amount of interest in Annabel’s future.
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