“I’ve gotta go. Old farmhouses loomed as they whizzed by, left behind in the gray like mourners. Do you remember what I said when you took me at the Mint four days ago? I told you my turn would come. Her girl Clarice was next, dying within a single day, blood leaking from her pretty brown eyes like an image of the Blessed Virgin. Think better of it. "See the devil!—not I," cried Wood impatiently. This time she tried to kill me with a dagger. "Zounds! what's that!" he cried, as the noise of a scuffle was heard behind them. She kept him talking all the way to the doorstep of the Beck's home, a small 1970s brown split-level in the old part of town. Vorsack would staunchly disapprove of his attire, said nothing anyway. I'd go for it.
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