She did not answer him, as she did not know what to say. Sebastian drank deeply and quickly of her blood. The sing-song girl, her fiddle broken, was beating her forehead upon the floor and wailing: Ai, ai! Ai, ai! Spurlock—or Taber, as he called himself—sat slumped in a chair, staring with glazed eyes at nothing, absolutely uninterested in the confusion for which he was primarily accountable. “He was no help to the police, just babbled on about how he was going to marry your Mom and how he was in love with her, that they he had lost his true love, Michelle insisted on repeating that to me, ‘He lost his true love. Better even than these. Shot him, do you hear?” “Good God!” he exclaimed, looking at her curiously. Least of all myself. He got out of the car and lifted her from the convertible before she could open the door. Lucy’s solos were exquisite in their precision and expression.
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