I suppose I saw photos of him in the papers, but I wouldn't recognize my own mother when a press photographer had done with her.
Horrible house! Iris shivered. She hated it. A gracious well-built house, harmoniously furnished and decorated (Ruth Lessing was never at fault!). And curiously, frighteningly vacant. They didn't live there. They occupied it. As soldiers, in a war, occupied some lookout post.
And then the lights came on and suddenly it was all as usual - I don't mean really as usual, but we were ourselves again, not just - people in the dark. People in the dark are quite different, aren't they?
Oh, I'm not afraid of death! What have I got to live for after all? I suppose you believe it's very wrong to kill a person who has injured you-even if they've taken away everything you had in the world?