And then you go—and half throttle me. Without a word, without a sign, Enschede started toward the beach, where his proa waited. She broke a cobblestone over his head and he was out. "Shall I never banish those horrible phantoms from my couch—the father with his bleeding breast and dripping hair!—the mother with her wringing hands and looks of vengeance and reproach!—And must another be added to their number—their son! Horror!—let me be spared this new crime! And yet the gibbet—my name tarnished—my escutcheon blotted by the hangman!—No, I cannot submit to that. Have you not tired of sadness and pain?” 81 She thought she could hear tears in his voice but would not look at him. She would lure him, as he was an easily tempted child predator who could even more easily be turned into prey. It isn’t.
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