Her secret thoughts made some hasty, half-hearted excursions into the possibility of telling the thing in romantic tones—Ramage was as a black villain, she as a white, fantastically white, maiden. From time to time she would come upon a line of singular beauty or a paragraph full of haunting music; and these would send her rushing on for something that never happened. She was fatigued physically and mentally, and neither mind nor body could rest. II. Lucy sat in the back seat as the trio sped through intersections in the old sedan. "These writer chaps are queer birds. More than ever a sense of confusion was upon Ennison. She went about the gory business of disposing of the bodies, cutting them up with a large butcher knife and packing the light dry pieces of their bloodless remains in a double ply garbage bag, pieces that looked like overcooked, ruined meat.
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