Cal spoke happily. “I’m going,” he said. “I’m going now. It’s all right. What Lee said was true.”

“What did Lee say?”

Cal said, “I was afraid I had you in me.”

“You have,” said Kate.

“No, I haven’t. I’m my own. I don’t have to be you.”

“How do you know that?” she demanded.

“I just know. It just came to me whole. If I’m mean, it’s my own mean.”

“This Chinaman has really fed you some pap. What are you looking at me like that for?”

Cal said, “I don’t think the light hurts your eyes. I think you’re afraid.”

“Get out!” she cried. “Go on, get out!”

“I’m going.” He had his hand on the doorknob. “I don’t hate you,” he said. “But I’m glad you’re afraid.”

She tried to shout “Joe!” but her voice thickened to a croak.

Cal wrenched open the door and slammed it behind him.

Joe was talking to one of the girls in the parlor. They heard the stutter of light quick footsteps. But by the time they looked up a streaking figure had reached the door, opened it, slipped through, and the heavy front door banged. There was only one step on the porch and then a crunch as jumping feet struck earth.

“What in hell was that?” the girl asked.

“God knows,” said Joe. “Sometimes I think I’m seeing things.”

“Me too,” said the girl. “Did I tell you Clara’s got bugs under her skin?”

“I guess she seen-the shadow of the needle,” said Joe. “Well, the way I figure, the less you know, the better off you are.”

“That’s the truth you said there,” the girl agreed.

Chapter 40

[1]

KATE SAT BACK IN HER CHAIR against the deep down cushions. Waves of nerves cruised over her body, raising the little hairs and making ridges of icy burn as they went.

She spoke softly to herself. “Steady now,” she said. “Quiet down. Don’t let it hit you. Don’t think for a while. The goddam snot-nose!”

She thought suddenly of the only person who had ever made her feel this panic hatred. It was Samuel Hamilton, with his white beard and his pink cheeks and the laughing eyes that lifted her skin and looked underneath.

With her bandaged forefinger she dug out a slender chain which hung around her neck and pulled the chain’s burden up from her bodice. On the chain were strung two safe-deposit keys, a gold watch with a fleur-de-lis pin, and a little steel tube with a ring on its top. Very carefully she unscrewed the top from the tube and, spreading her knees, shook out a gelatine capsule. She held the capsule under the light and saw the white crystals inside—six grains of morphine, a good, sure margin. Very gently she eased the capsule into its tube, screwed on the cap, and dropped the chain inside her dress.

Cal’s last words had been repeating themselves over and over in her head. “I’m glad you’re afraid.” She said the words aloud to herself to kill the sound. The rhythm stopped, but a strong picture formed in her mind and she let it form so that she could inspect it again.