To Capes he was almost deferential, and she had never seen him deferential in the old time, never. He did not think of her as a killer, he could barely conceive it. “I never planned it—And now I have begun—” She felt acutely that he was entitled to explanations, and as acutely that explanations were impossible that night. She had to school herself to speak the words which she knew would cut him like a knife. It was no marriage at all. “The Holy Ghost! The Pope! My mother!” She squealed. Her heavy pistol came up again, although she did not rise.
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