“I hope you will not compel me to say again that I do not know the man’s name, nor, to the best of my belief, have I ever seen him before in my life. “You don’t have to go if you don’t want to. Her fingers opened and the weapon fell from her nerveless grasp. I could see his little animal brain churning away, inventing plans for me, formulating his revenge. Her aunt had summoned up an altogether too vivid picture of her father as the masterful man, overbearing, emphatic, sentimental, noisy, aimless. “Won’t you sit down,” she said, “and tell me what you want to say?” Her voice was flat and faint. Wanton! Had I been one, even God would have forgiven me, understanding.
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