She ought to have leapt back on guard. Then she stepped back into the empty room and stood for a moment looking down upon the scattered fragments of her last canvas. “I didn’t know Mr. He had pictured her, if indeed she had ever had the courage to do this thing, as sitting alone, convulsed with guilty fear, starting at her own shadow, a slave to constant terror. . I slaved over it, contacted half a dozen genealogy groups and came up with zilch. It isn’t because you’re good, but because I may be rotten bad; and there’s something—something living and understanding in you. I’ll pay it. ” Her mind went off to Capes.
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