Good breeding simply doesn’t pay the rent anymore. And while Miss Melville has bucketloads of breeding, she finds herself somewhat...lacking, shall we say, when it comes to finances. Distinctly lacking. Her rich friends are no help; they think “broke” means having to buy a smaller yacht. What is an impoverished gentlewoman to do? Become a killer for hire, of course. But Miss Melville (who prefers the term “hitwoman”) doesn’t take just any job, no matter how well paid. That kind of sordid money-grubbing is beneath contempt. No, she reserves her talents for those who...let’s say those who really deserve them. It’s true, her ancestors would roll in their graves at the thought of Miss Melville working—and for a paycheck, my dear! But finger sandwiches and opera tickets don’t come cheap: One does what one must.
