"But, then, how did you come here, Jacqueline?" I asked.
"I do not know," she answered. And, a moment later, "I do not know, Paul."
That encouraged me a little. Evidently she remembered what I had just said to her.
"Where is your home, Jacqueline?"
"I do not know," she answered in an apathetic voice, devoid of interest.
There was something more to be said, though it was hard.
"Jacqueline, who—was—that?"
"Who?" she inquired, looking at me with the same patient, wistful gaze.
"That man, Jacqueline. That dead man."
"What dead man, Paul?"