Diane spooned warm apple-rhubarb pie onto the girl’s plates, topping each with scoops of ice cream. Her tone was hoarse with passion. ‘Dieu du ciel, but answer me!’ Martha’s eyes were swimming again, and she reached out. And sometimes he overflowed with a peculiarly malignant wit that played, with devastating effect, upon any topics that had the courage to face it. The thought caused him an odd kind of pang—of pity, naturally. Did he intend to kill her now, this instant? Or had she a moment or two to try to save herself? Recalling Leonardo’s dictum, she did not struggle, for that would only tighten the trap about her, and perhaps even spring it. Went up to Somerset House to examine the will before he did it.
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