For she needed him. He’d borne mention of the woman’s name. She should leave sooner, but she just could not bear missing the event. She reflected upon that with a thrill of terror that was also, somehow, in some faint remote way, gleeful. I don’t care. ‘But I will tell you this, mon vieux. Presently he began to weave a tale, sorry enough, with all the ancient claptraps and rusted platitudes. Suddenly he came to a stop, his mouth agape. The late afternoon, en effet. She did not see the metal pole swing toward the back of her skull, nor did she feel her own blood spoiling her light hair after the dull crack of metal broke her flesh.
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