To surrender himself to the law, to face trial and imprisonment, was out of the question. ‘Dear me. Lucy vomited onto the floor at the sight of her mother dying, the black spots expanding across her corpse. Stanley came home at a quarter to six—an earlier train by fifteen minutes than he affected—his sister met him in the hall with a hushed expression. Sheppard. “Splendid it must be to be a composer. He devoured her with his eyes too, his shyness not able to disguise his furtive glances at the curvy outline of her breast against the imitation silk, his memory still exquisitely tortured by her movements in the miniskirt. And Mother trusted him. A white man, wandering about the streets of Canton at night, was a challenge to such a catastrophe.
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