She walked down the station approach, past the neat, obtrusive offices of the coal merchant and the house agent, and so to the wicket-gate by the butcher’s shop that led to the field path to her home. Gerald glanced down and saw her dash at a spread of blood on his own hand, only now realising that her dagger had found its mark. ” Ennison dropped the evening paper which he had been pretending to read. He stood upon the threshold, dangling his eye-glasses in his fingers, stolid, imperturbable, mildly interrogative. Even Lucy’s bra and panties, the ubiquitous polyester underwire and matching cotton bikini briefs from Kmart, were gone. The sun was setting, casting long dreary shadows across deformed apple trees.
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