She had always wondered when they would start being able to trace her kills, with their expanding systems of criminal databases and computers, and now it was starting to happen. He had not remembered her as looking so small. She jumped up at once, caught up a leather clutch containing notebooks, a fat textbook, and a chocolate-and-yellow-covered pamphlet, and leaped neatly from the carriage, only to discover that the train was slowing down and that she had to traverse the full length of the platform past it again as the result of her precipitation. ‘She is constantly thinking of you,’ I said. “So you’re the one my son has been talking about. Presently she was again in that dreadful tavern of the Thénardiers.
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