CHAPTER XVI. “Can you take any from me?” “No, I won’t do that. “That’s suicidal bullshit, Lucy. “It is not that. Or I should say—’ ‘Eugenia,’ cut in Gerald grimly. Her face reminded him of a delicate unglazed porcelain cup, filled with blond wine. The necessity which had previously existed of leaving the ghastly evidence of the murderous deed undisturbed,—the presence of the mangled corpse,—the bustle of the inquest, at which her attendance was required,—all these circumstances produced a harrowing effect upon the young girl's imagination. I will endeavour. What was he doing? What was he thinking? It was less than a day now, less than twenty hours. “Prom committee does this, silly. Detention would mean coming home late, which spelled distraction and trouble on the night of a kill.
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