Sir James Thornhill, then, rose. At the head of the cart was placed the coffin. It occurred to her that it was absurd and wrong to be so continuously thinking of one engrossing topic, and she made a strenuous effort to force her mind to other questions. They did not care— servant or master, it meant nothing. She stabbed him with her canines. Diane did not hear the footsteps on her brick patio or the audible click of the back door lock being compromised. Immediately he was gone, she regretted that she had not followed. He dined, and then pleaded a political engagement.
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