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So you took my womb away, you took my baby! So I could be a monster! Because she was a monster! We are monsters!” He grabbed the top of the cannon away from her face. I meant to give him a drubbing. She began rubbing it with her pocket-handkerchief. Then I assumed a rather portentous manner to prepare him. In the old days he had been something of an athlete—a runner, an oarsman, and a crack at tennis. Spurlock knew exactly what he was doing, however: speculative mischief, to see how she would act. Over the mantel, set into an ornately carved panel with fluted columns at each end, was a portrait of a man on horseback.
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