It was still too dark for reading, but she could see well enough to note the number of the last page—fifty-six. He came in with his hands in his trousers pockets and a general air of depression in his bearing. She went past three keenly observant and ostentatiously preoccupied waiters down the thickcarpeted staircase and out of the Hotel Rococo, that remarkable laboratory of relationships, past a tall porter in blue and crimson, into a cool, clear night. ” He paused, with his eyes studying her gravely. They were talking of “Alcide,” as they often did in those days. ” She covered her face with her hands. “And all the rest of it perhaps is a song. That's the way she strikes me. Each time a daughter had been born to him he had concealed his chagrin with great tenderness and effusion from his wife, and had sworn unwontedly and with passionate sincerity in the bathroom. It was dawn: Cathy would soon be off to the restaurant and Larry off to paint a house. She had killed the McCloskeys after they had witnessed her making a kill.
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