She began going over the building carefully. How pink the bricks were in the afternoon sun! The trees up Wilson Boulevard looked so green and feathery! How....
Her eyes found the cupola upon the top of the Administration Building. She had always wanted to see what was in that cupola! She unscrewed the lenses to their full power. They came into focus. One of the grimy windows was open. How lucky! She trained them into it.
Scissored against the far white wall was Cub Sterling sitting at a small table. His hand held a hypodermic syringe. He was laughing....
God Almighty!
Sally staggered as if she had been struck. Emma, supporting her, soothed:
“I orta told you, dearie. If you looks too much you gits dizzy.”
“Emma,” her tone was parched and pleading, “look through these at the cupola of the Elijah Wilson Hospital and tell me what you see.”
The old woman took the binoculars, readjusted them ... it seemed to Sally that she used a thousand years ... and said:
“Shucks, honey, I don’t see nuthin’ but a curly-headed man settin’ at a little table writin’ in a book.... H’m ... he’s awful nice lookin’!, too....”
Sally snatched the glasses and spread her feet to prop herself while she projected them. Her eyes, as she stiffly moved the dials, were filmy, but within seconds she had the lenses magnifying the cupola and as a man might repeat by rote what he knew by heart, she forced her horror-stricken eyes to focus again.