CHAPTER TEN
For a time, the room seemed heavy with silence. John walked away from the bed, going to the window that overlooked the rear yard. He almost forgot about the cigarette in his fingers. It burned him slightly and he shifted it about, getting a better hold on it. He examined his fingers, saw they were not burned badly, forgot about it. He took one more drag on the cigarette, put it out in an ashtray. He turned, walking back to the bed.
"What happened?" he asked.
"I wasn't there," she said, not looking at him.
"But you know what happened, don't you?"
"Car accident," she said briefly.
"He was killed?"
"Of course."
"When?"
"Three weeks ago. Don't you read the papers?"
"I didn't see that."
She shrugged, did not speak.
"You said," he went on, "that she killed him. Why put it
