There was only one idea in his head now—to batter and bruise and crush this weakling, then cast him at the feet of his love-lorn wife. Lucy had snuck in the back door by the kitchen and Sheila was ready for her, standing between the stove 124 and the refrigerator. ‘Suppose you don’t know what sort of proof she was after?’ he asked. She gazed steadily out of the window at that arc of glittering lights. She had never felt so acutely the desire for free initiative, for a life unhampered by others.
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