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Chapter 6

           

           Hehadwalkedstraightoutoftownwiththenews,straightoutbeforehiminthenoondaysunonthewhiteroad,andhisfeethadbroughthimfacetofacewithherinthehalloftheruinedpalazzo,aroommagnificentandnaked,withhereandtherealongstripofdamask,blackwithdampandage,hangingdownonabarepanelofthewall.Itwasfurnishedwithexactlyonegiltarmchair,withabrokenback,andanoctagoncolumnarstandbearingaheavymarblevaseornamentedwithsculpturedmasksandgarlandsofflowers,andcrackedfromtoptobottom.CharlesGouldwasdustywiththewhitedustoftheroadlyingonhisboots,onhisshoulders,onhiscapwithtwopeaks.Waterdrippedfromunderitalloverhisface,andhegraspedathickoakencudgelinhisbarerighthand.

           Shewentverypaleundertherosesofherbigstrawhat,gloved,swingingaclearsunshade,caughtjustasshewasgoingouttomeethimatthebottomofthehill,wherethreepoplarsstandnearthewallofavineyard.

           “Ithaskilledhim!”herepeated.“Heoughttohavehadmanyyearsyet.Wearealong-livedfamily.”

           Shewastoostartledtosayanything;hewascontemplatingwithapenetratingandmotionlessstarethecrackedmarbleurnasthoughhehadresolvedtofixitsshapeforeverinhismemory.

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