\"He still likes you, I believe. How did you like Tristan?” Ann Veronica paused the fraction of a second before her reply came. It was an excuse, dredged up on the spur of the moment to cover a slip. It could only mean one thing—that her foster daughter was both a whore and a murderer! When Sheila confronted her about it, it was five in the morning. Muttering something to himself, he appeared to be telling upon his fingers the advantages and disadvantages of some scheme he had in contemplation. "Are you my son? Are you Jack?" "I am," replied Jack. And if the woman is not a rival, she must be—yes, that must be it. I believed I was strong enough to go on in silence; but I'm human like everybody else.
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