He rested on one elbow. Lucy did not want to have to kill the mother, as she hated more than anything to kill women, no matter what their sins. The life of a girl presented itself to her as something happy and heedless and unthinking, yet really guided and controlled by others, and going on amidst unsuspected screens and concealments. A snarl contorted his features, and he marched up to it, laying his pistol down on the marquetry table so that his hands were free to grab the picture off the wall. They rose as she approached. Gerald sighed. Jack Kimble.
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