“Crocker told me he was going to kill that woman and the man she is living with,” he said, slowly and huskily.
“Yes,” I put in, with a sort of eagerness, “but don't you see—”
“It would be exceedingly difficult to convince a jury,” he went on, deliberately silencing me, “that she is not at present living with—”
“Well?” said I, thinking queer, rapid thoughts.
“You,” he finished.
April 12th—very late.
I WALKED slowly Lack into my own room, trying to think; but my mind was inert.
In the next room Heloise was still singing, softly and brightly.