She killed every month, twelve a year, and was for all intents and purposes a serial killer of middle aged men. " So Ruth heard about the poets; she became tolerably familiar with the exploits of that engaging ruffian Cellini; she heard of the pathetic deafness of Beethoven; she was thrilled, saddened, exhilarated; and on the evening of the twelfth day she made bold to enter the talk. ‘You’re speaking the truth. On a high chair behind a raised counter the stipendiary’s substitute regarded her malevolently over his glasses. "My name is Ruth Enschede.
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