"What's eating you out?"
"You don't give a bloody bug what's eating me out. We'll pickle it."
"Not now, we won't. There's something else first."
"I've changed my mind."
"I haven't." Lennox drew out the photostats and handed them to her. "Read these."
"What?"
"Read them."
She began to shriek with laughter. "Read these, he says." She rocked around the room, neighing hysterically. Lennox went after her, took her by the shoulders and slammed her into a chair.
"You're petrified," he growled, "and I think I know why. Read those letters, damn you, and we'll find out."
She wiped her eyes with the hem of the dressing gown and read the photostats. Lennox watched her closely. Her face reflected every word she was reading. Her body reflected her face. She was savage, sick, vicious, threatening. For the length of all six letters she was the writer of those letters. She was completely identified. When she came to the end she looked at Lennox.