His answer lay there.
With a cold mind, Sean bent down, jerked Marcia roughly to her feet.
His strong palm lashed out, once, twice in snapping blows to Marcia's soft cheeks. The girl whimpered at the first blow; at the second, her sobbing slowed; and at the third, a semblance of intelligence brought a spark to her blue eyes.
Sean held her shoulders gripped tightly in his hands. He shook her gently.
"Marcia," he said softly. "Marcia."
Marcia's eyes reached up to his. She said dully:
"It was awful, Sean." Then she was in his arms sobbing. Sean let the sobbing run its course, though his mind was champing to ask her what happened. The hysteria was gone from her voice finally when she said:
"I killed her, Sean, with the touch of my hand." She held up the tiny hand with the long tapering fingers and flexed it.
"Marcia." Sean forced himself to speak slowly. "How did you kill her? What spot did you touch?"