It was true in a way. I couldn't see her eyes clearly, but I knew they were bright and black and vital. She was still greedy for life, like the imaginary Letitia, the weird projection of herself in imitation leopardskin she had used to hide behind.
She shifted her hand to her heavy chin and said: 'I'll give you money.'
'Roy took your money. Look what happened to him.' She turned abruptly and started for her car. I guessed what was in her mind: another death, another shadow to feed on: and got to the open door of the Rolls before her. Her black leather bag was on the floor where it had fallen in the collision. Inside the bag I found the new revolver which she had intended to use on Roy's new wife.
'Give me that.'
She spoke with the authority of a Senator's daughter and the more terrible authority of a woman who had killed two other women and two men.
'No more guns for you,' I said.
No more anything, Letitia.
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