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er Hazzard； sitting there by it； lingering late over a book。 The others gone to bed； all but herself。 She the last one to leave him。 A brief kiss on his forehead。
〃Shall I lock up for you？〃
〃No； you run along。 I will； in a moment〃
〃You won't forget； though？〃
〃No； I won't forget。〃 And then he'd chuckled； in that dry way of his： 〃Don't be nervous； I'm well…protected down here。 There's a revolver in one of the drawers right by me here。 We keep it specially for burglars。 That was Mother's idea； once； years ago…and there hasn't been hide nor hair of one in all the time since。〃
She'd laughed at this melodramatic drollery； and told him quite truthfully 〃It wasn't prowlers I was thinking of； but a sudden rainstorm in the middle of the night and Mother's best drapes。〃
She'd laughed。 But now she didn't。
Now she knew where there was a gun。
You crooked your finger through。 You pulled。 And you had peace； you had safety。
They stopped； and she heard the car…door beside her clack open。 She raised her eyes。 They were in a leafy tunnel of the street trees。 She recognized the symmetrical formation of the trees； the lawnslopes on either side of them； the dim contours of the private homes in the background。 They were on her own street； but further over； about a block away from the house。 He was being tactful； letting her out at a great enough distance from her own door to be inconspicuous。
He was sitting there； waiting for her to take the hint and get out。 She looked at her watch； mechanically。 Not even eleven yet。 It must have been around ten when it happened。 It had taken them forty minutes ing back； they'd driven slower than going out。
He'd seen her do it。 He smiled satirically。 〃Doesn't take long to marry； does it？〃
It doesn't take long to die； either； she thought smoulderingly。
〃Don't you…don't you want me to e with you？〃 she whispered。
〃What for？〃 he said insolently。 〃I don't want you。 I just want what eventually…es with you。 You go upstairs to your unsullied little bed。 （I trust it is； anyway。 With this Bill in the house。）〃
She could feel heat in her face。 But nothing much mattered； nothing counted。 Except that the gun was a block away； and he was here。 And the two of them had to meet。
〃Just stay put；〃 he advised her。 〃No unexpected little trips out of town； now； Patrice。 Unless you want me to suddenly step forward and claim paternity of the child。 I have the law on my side； now； you know。 I'll go straight to the police。〃
〃Well…will you wait here a minute？ I'll…I'll be right out。 I'll get you some money。 You '11 need some…until…until we get together again。〃
〃Your dowry？〃 he said ironically。 〃So soon？ Well； as a matter of fact； I don't。 Some of the men in this town play very poor cards。 Anyway； why give me what's already mine？ Piecemeal。 I can wait。 Don't do me any favors。〃
She stepped down； reluctantly。
〃Where can I reach you； in case I have to？〃
〃I'll be around。 You'll hear from me； every now and then。 Don't be afraid of losing me。〃
No； it had to be tonight； tonight； she kept telling herself grimly。 Before the darkness ended and the daybreak came。 If she waited； she'd lose her courage。 This surgery had to be performed at once； this cancer on her future removed。
No matter where he goes in this city tonight； she vowed； I'll track him down； I'll find him； and I'll put an end to him。 Even if I have to destroy my own self doing it。 Even if I have to do it in sight of a hundred people。
The car…door swung closed。 He tipped his hat satirically。
〃Good night； Mrs。 Georgesson。 Pleasant dreams to you。 Try sleeping on a piece of wedding…cake。 If you haven't wedding…cake； try a hunk of stale bread。 You'll be just as crummy either way。〃
The car sidled past her。 Her eyes fastened on the rear license…plate； clove to it； memorized it； even as it went skimming past It dwindled。 The red tail…light coursed around the next corner and disappeared。 But it seemed to hang there before her eyes； like a ghost…plaque； suspended against the night； for long minutes after。
NY09231
Then that； too； dimmed and went out。
Somebody was walking along the quiet night sidewalk； very close by。 She could hear the chip…chipping of the high heels。 That was she。 The trees were moving by her； slowly rearward。 Somebody was climbing terraced flagstone steps。 She could hear the gritty sound of the ascending tread。 That was she。 Somebody was standing before the door of the house now。 She could see the darkling reflection in the glass opposite her。 It moved as she moved。 That was she。
She opened her handbag and felt inside it for her doorkey。 Hers； was good。 The key they'd given her。 It was still there。 For some reason this surprised her。 Funny to e home like this； just as though nothing had happened to you； and feel for your key； and put it into the door； and…and go into the house。 To still e home like this； and still go into the house。
I have to go in here； she defended herself。 My baby's asleep in this house。 He's asleep upstairs in it； right now。 This is where I have to go； there isn't any other place for me to go。
She remembered how she'd had to lie； earlier tonight； asking Mother Hazzard to mind Hughie for her while she visited a new friend。 Father had been at a business meeting and Bill had been out。
She put on the lights in the lower hall。 She closed the door。 Then she stood there a minute； her breath rising and falling； her back supine against the door。 It was so quiet； so quiet in this house。 People sleeping； people who trusted you。 People who didn't expect you to bring home scandal and murder to them； in return for all their goodness to you。
She stood there immobile。 So quiet； so still； there was no guessing what she had e back here for； what she had e back here to do。
Nothing left。 Nothing。 No home； no love； even no child any more。 She'd even forfeited that prospective love； tarnished it for a later day。 She'd lose him too； he'd turn against her； when he was old enough to know this about her。
He'd done all this to her； one man。 It wasn't enough that he'd done it once； he'd done it twice now。 He'd wrecked two lives for her。 He'd smashed up the poor inoffensive seventeen…year…old simpleton from San Francisco who had had the bad luck to stray his way。 Smashed her up； and wiped his feet all over her five…and…tencent…store dreams； and spit on them。 And now he'd smashed up the cardboard lady they called Patrice。
He wouldn't smash up anybody more！
A tortured grimace disfigured her face for a moment。 The back of her wrist went to her forehead； clung there。 An inhalation of terrible softness； yet terrible resolve； shook her entire frame。 Then she tottered on the bias toward the library entrance； like a ic drunk lacking in sufficient coordination to face squarely in the direction in which he is hastening。
She put on the big reading…lamp in there； center…table。
She went deliberately to the cellarette； and opened that； and poured some brandy and downed it。 It seemed to blast its way down into her； but she quelled it with a resolute effort。
Ah； yes； you needed that when you were going to kill a man。
She went looking for the gun。 She tried the table…drawers first；