“Michelle, I don’t ever want to hear you mention the subject you mentioned at dinner again. ‘And I wouldn’t be no sort of a man if I’d heard what I heard, and gone off and left you. “Accident! She shot me,” he muttered. “God in Heaven, Annabel!” he cried. Now I shall never hear it but what this evening will come pouring back over me. “She is likely somewhere on the road or perhaps in town, finding victims. The air became hot and swollen with June humidity. “Yeah. The evening breeze came; the bamboo shades on the veranda clicked and rasped; the loose edges of the manuscript curled. In the meanwhile, as he talked, he scrutinized her face, ran his eyes over her careless, gracious poise, wondered hard about her. S.
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