Monsieur could rely upon his special attention, and for the cooking—well, he had his customers, who came from their homes to him year after year. You know the sort of thing. The houses they flitted to and from were glutted with hangers-on, servant/mistresses, and errant prostitutes. Covering his face with a crape mask, and taking the candle from his associate, Jack entered the room; and, pistol in hand, stepped up to the bed, and approached the light to the eyes of the sleepers. She found a clean sweatshirt and soft pajama pants, glad to trade the wet for the dry.
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