Chapter 44 The Knox
The Knox
Do I recall the girls to whom Rose is referring?
Yes—and no. There was nothing particularly distinguishing about them, other than the depths of their faux pas.
So many passed through me with fairy-tale eyes and pedestrian clothes.
They wanted to mingle with the members as if they belonged, sip high-end champagne whose names they couldn’t pronounce.
One once lapped up the beurre blanc—meant to accompany the poached salmon—as if it were a bowl of soup.
They aspired to marry rich so they could take up residence in my bedrooms—and they engaged in varying degrees of depravities.
They were foolish, the whole lot of them. You don’t become old money—that’s why it’s old money.
It was rather considerate of Rose to warn Taylor—and unlike Rose, really—but we shall see if Taylor heeds her advice. She does strike me as slightly different: quieter, more reserved. And far more curious than she ought to be.
I caught Taylor lurking the other day outside my windows. When Jerry departed with the items he procured from my basement, she followed him.
They both haven’t the faintest clue about what’s among the items.
I can still recall with utter delight, like it was yesterday, the sheath of the knife slicing through the woman’s body with admirable surgical precision.
The skin pulling apart like a piece of cheap rubber.
The crackling of the bones as they were extracted.
The blood that pooled generously, freely, like the Charles River.
Jerry and Taylor are in for a treat. My bones creak just thinking about it.