“Uh, I think I might, Shari. . \" She tried not to stare at Shari who had resumed 11 sipping the drugged cocoa. I too can see it. Gerald saw her extract something and leapt aside, calling a warning to Hilary. It wasn’t clear to me that I had to explain. The novel danger of the situation enthralled him. She looked in the rear-view mirror. Her back stiffened. But in its stead—toward morning—there appeared another idea which appealed to him as sublime, appealed to the primitive conscience, to his artistic sense of the drama, to the poet and the novelist in him.
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