It was not until the morning of the fifth day that the constant vigil was broken. I said I knew he disliked and distrusted you and your work—that you shared all Russell’s opinions: he hates Russell beyond measure—and that we couldn’t possibly face a conventional marriage. “Could you play ‘Fiddler on the Roof’?” father Thomas pleaded. The months that followed September spiraled downward. The detective reckoned that his quarry would be up in ten days more. But for all that, it offered relief; his brain, stupefied by the fumes, grew dull, and conscience lost its edge to bite.
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