Sheila grabbed the gun and laughed hysterically, brandishing the weapon and baying like a bear. "May I beg to know whom I've the pleasure of adressing? Jackson, I conclude, is merely an assumed name. And I've already told you the accident was not Jack's fault. I made a wrong choice, it seems—but my voice remains. She crawled over and caught at the skirts of this white woman who understood. What else could one say? I left him to suppose—a registry perhaps. That night in his den he smoked many pipes. “Your brother has gone?” she asked Sydney, between the courses. “It would be easier if Katy would just lay off.
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