And if the woman is not a rival, she must be—yes, that must be it. The oblique ruddy lighting distorted them oddly, made queer bars and patches of shadow upon their clothes. No man knew whence she had come nor why. . He could see lust virtually dripping from the dark-haired boy’s maw as she teased every last note from her shuddering violin, the devil in a black skirt. Sepulchre's church was covered—so was the tower. He could not permit her to remain in that position. He drove her home that night, kissing her again and again at stoplights.
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