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. That a longing of hers should be realized in this strange fashion was difficult to believe: it vaguely suggested something of a trap. “Even Katy Pfister can’t touch you now. . ” “You are sure that he asked for me—not for Annabel?” “Certain,” Courtlaw answered. Kneebone, he took his departure. “I’m going for a long tramp, auntie,” she said. But if you mean to take me to this Gérard, I shall know what to say to him. “Maybe I should have stayed home. ” “How?” “It prevents our marrying. Then he stood up and hailed a fiacre. She walked over to them still carrying the trousers in her hands, and stooped to examine them.
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