Forgetting her occupation in her anger, she left off bathing Darrell's wrist; and, squeezing his arm so tightly that the boy winced with pain, she clapped her right hand upon her hip, and turned, with flashing eyes and an inflamed countenance, towards her crest-fallen spouse. "Heaven have mercy on his soul!" ejaculated Wood. "It is never too late. It wasn’t long ago that a girl went straight from the farm to her husband, just as soon as her period came and she could make babies. The thing is done. If he died, here in this hotel, who would care? Or if she died, who would care? A queer desire blossomed in her heart: to go to him, urge him to see the folly of trying to forget. They were loath to admit to the public that the case would be closed in a few years for sheer lack of forensic evidence. There were too many kills, too many unsolved files in too many cabinets. She must kill this man, or kill herself. Lucilla clearly adored her betrothed, anyone could see that.
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