Maria was gone, but he knew she’d be back. Where else could she go? The nuns wouldn’t have her. They knew better than that. She might head for the hills, but the hills were alive with his spies. Perhaps she had found someone else’s curtains to massacre, someone else’s children to turn into dimwitted, harmonizing automatons. If she had, he would know soon enough. And then . . . well. How do you solve a problem like Maria? You do whatever it takes.
So long. Farewell.
Wool/cashmere onesie in Ludovico gray. Bowler hat and cable-knit toreador’s cape sold separately.