And then, as she stood there, with the fragments of the torn canvas at her feet, some even caught upon her skirt, the door was thrown open, and a girl entered humming a light tune. She was glad when he went on: “I want to be your city of refuge from every sort of bother. It was Sunday evening—a soft delicious evening, and, from the happy, cheerful look of the house, none would have dreamed of the dismal tragedy so lately acted within its walls. I wonder. "Your answer!" cried Sheppard. By a sort of instinct. Her scream shook the windows of the sedan. She fought the inclination for a while, then surrendered.
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