‘You will arrest me? For—for—’ ‘Trespass, theft and spying,’ snapped Hilary. The inner apartment was rather gracefully furnished with a thick, fine Turkish carpet, a good brass fender, a fine old bureau, and on the walls were engravings of two young girls’ heads by Greuze, and of some modern picture of boys bathing in a sunlit pool. Her stifled misery had betrayed her. “It is a night of endings,” she murmured to herself. He disappeared after getting my foster sister Traci pregnant. No more scuffling. The hurricane appeared to have raged in this quarter with tenfold fury.
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