” Lucy finished Michelle’s sentence and steeled her resolve, drawing herself up to a straighter posture. “I should kill you. " "I don't care for that," replied Jack. He could see lust virtually dripping from the dark-haired boy’s maw as she teased every last note from her shuddering violin, the devil in a black skirt. There was a new softness in her eyes, a hesitation, a timidity about her manner which was almost pathetic. She remembered him as a dull figure, a big man with a belly that was already showing fat under his fine scarlet clothes. She had never been "My child" or "My dear"; always her name—Ruth. Michelle walked up the concrete porch steps, gesturing to Lucy to do the same. Hear me then, now, before I take one step to establish my origin, or secure my rights. Fire; she was full of it.
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