She struck him across the mouth.
Horning's head reeled. He tried to twist free.
But Myrtle's hand was still locked in his shirt-front. Savagely, she jerked him back and hit him again.
Horning staggered. His shirt ripped. Margaret's portrait fluttered from his pocket to the floor.
Myrtle went rigid. Eyes dilating, she stared at the fallen picture.
Horning tore loose her hand and scooped the photo from the floor.
Teeth bared, nostrils flaring, Myrtle closed in upon him. "So that's it!" she cried shrilly.
"What—?"
"So you thought you'd go back to her, that's what! You figured you'd find her in another world—"
A chill ran up and down Horning's spine. He tucked the picture back in his pocket. "Myrtle, you don't know what you're saying—"