I’ll have to get rid of this girl, one of the four men in the car was thinking.
The rich stillness of midsummer lay on the world; the grain was ripe in the fields, the trees marched up the hills, pale-green and emerald-green and yellow-green, here and there a dark spruce and a copper beech, all unstirring against the pure blue sky. It made him sick to look at that unbounded peace, and to think of his danger.
I could manage Eve, he thought. Eve! God! what a name for her! I remember that book of Bible stories we had when we were children. The Angel driving Adam and Eve out of Paradise. She had long hair down to her knees, and a little dress made of skins, and she was holding Adam’s hand. My Eve never had any idea of leaving her snug little garden hand in hand with me. No. She was going to
