"You can't, David! I won't let—"
He slapped her then with the palm of his hand. The sound was like a pistol shot in the hot, tight air.
Dad stood now like a colossus carved of black ice. His right hand was still upraised, ready to strike again.
Then his hand fell. His mind seemed to be toying with a new thought, a new concept.
He seized one of the books on the hassock.
"Edith," he said crisply, "just what was Ronnie reading? What's the name of this book?"
"The—The Adventures of Tom Sawyer," said Mom through her sobs.
He grabbed the second book, held it before her shimmering vision.
"And the name of this?"
"Tarzan of The Apes." Mom's voice was a barely audible croak.