She lied. The babies that the woman—your wife—refused to stop creating. Over the mantel, set into an ornately carved panel with fluted columns at each end, was a portrait of a man on horseback. ” “I married pretty young,” said Capes. I—I am a lovesick idiot, and not accountable for my actions. I wouldn’t even have to use very much gasoline. She was at the end of girlhood and on the eve of a woman’s crowning experience. “How did you hear that?” Lucy’s brows knitted. “I think we’ve exhausted this discussion,” she said.
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