“Concern me!” she repeated fiercely. I want to get away. ’ ‘Who’s bleeding to death?’ demanded Trodger. What was the objection? She found it impossible to look her own diffidence in the face. I mean that it doesn’t interest you in itself. When she was done she checked the patio door and carried his body into the garage, burying his remains next to the ten year old girl he had raped and killed last autumn, whose bones were starting to show in small areas where the maggots had feasted. He was almost frightening in silhouette, his hair uncontrollable under the best of circumstances, but that changed when you saw his face. The audience was made up of parents, teachers, and a few other curious folks from town, all sitting hushed in anticipatory silence as the school orchestra assembled onstage.
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