Chapter FourteenLazare stayed for two hours. During these two hours he passed from sarcasm to threats, from polite ease to a manner of cold brutality. For the last three-quarters of an hour his conversation was limited to one sentence fired off at irregular intervals.
“Will you open the lacquer case?”
Sally remained standing by the window all the time, but she edged backwards so that she could lean against the wall. She found herself counting between the sentences—“one, two, three, four, five, six.”
“Will you open the lacquer case?” Silence. Then—“one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten—when was it coming—eleven, twelve.”
“Will you open the lacquer case?”
After nearly an hour of it she was only just holding on to her self-control. When she was at the last gasp Lazare
