’ She saw the weapon wrenched from Emile’s hand and he dropped to the bench of the pew and sat there, grasping helplessly at the welling blood on his arm. There was a pause, and then the front door slammed. She hadn't meant to ask anything for herself. Gracious, there’s the gong. He had a wild impulse to shout. The recollection of all her unhappiness, the loveless years, the unending loneliness, the injustice of it, rolled up to her lips in verbal lava. “Why?” he asked, suavely.
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