Perhaps an hour passed before she laid aside the book. ‘I don’t want to hurt you any more. You don’t wear a dinner coat with a flower in your button-hole, or last night’s shirt, or very glossy boots, nor do you haunt the drawing-room in the evening, or play at being musical. You are not a tourist seeking adventure. 137 The living conditions of her kills were often so sordid that she would spend hours washing them off of her, and August brought her to the Greene River once again, scrubbing the stink from her hair with Ivory Liquid Dishwashing Detergent. Not so bad. “I’m not coarse—no! But I’ve got no purity of mind—no real purity of mind.
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