"Yes!"
Again drawing a deep breath, Rich straightened up. He nodded to himself as though with enlightenment.
Courtney, it must be confessed, experienced something like a fit of the cold shivers. The commonplace well-to-do bedroom, like ten thousand other bedrooms in England, made a contrast for depths of violence: for ugly pictures under respectable paint.
"Is the song, Drink to Me Only with Thine Eyes," continued Rich, "is that song associated with what he did?"
"No!"
"What is it associated with, then?" No reply.
"You must answer me. What is it associated with?" "Frank Sharpless."
"Are you in love with Frank Sharpless?" "Yes. Yes. Yes."
Rich put his small, stubby-fingered hands over his face, pressing in the eyes. Once more he nodded to himself. The brush of hair at the back of his head was agitated; it twisted and scuffed up over his collar.
'"Does anyone else know about Polly Allen besides you?"