’ He gestured towards the fulminating general. “Just leave them with me for now, Clotilde. There's our young friend upstairs. She quickly strangled him with the piano wire as he looked at her, his lips open as if to scream, but his larynx had been intentionally sliced. " "Very true," chuckled Jackson; "very true. The mortal youth in him, then, was fascinated, the thinker, the poet; from all sides Ruth attacked him, innocently. He looked like a French boy soldier she had once glimpsed marching towards his death in one of the battles they would later call the Hundred Years War.
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