I put myself directly in front of her, no more than a few feet away, my hands in the pockets of my jacket.
“Look at me again. Look at me well. Try to recall—”
Slowly, very slowly, she struggled to her feet. The color went out of her lips and the light from her eyes as she backed away from me in a kind of terror.
“What—what—are you trying to make me—to make me understand?”
“Think! How should I know all that I’ve been saying if—”
“If the man himself didn’t tell you. But he did.”
“No, he didn’t. No one had to tell me.”
She reached the veranda rail, which she clutched with one hand, while the other, clenched, was pressed against her breast.
“You don’t mean—”
“Yes, I do mean—”