Morse walked to the door, and she allowed him to open it. Then with clenched hands she tottered after him. He was going to kill Bobbie and herself. Somehow within her tortured being she was glad. Morse waited and looked back, asking her a question silently.
She made no response, however, but cast her eyes upon the blind boy sitting dejectedly upon the floor, one arm around Happy Pete.
“Jinnie,” said Bobbie, rolling his eyes, “I was afraid you were goin’ to stay in there all day.” 314
“Come here, boy,” ordered Morse. “Get up and come here.”
Bobbie turned his delicate, serious face in the direction of the voice.
“I don’t want to,” he gulped, shaking his head. “I don’t like you, Mister Black Man. I can’t get up anyway, my heart hurts too much!”
Still the girl stood with the vision of Theodore King before her.
“I won’t write it, I won’t,” she droned to herself insistently.
Morse sprang forward and grasped the child.
“Get up,” he hissed.