The question stood between us in that quiet room like a third person, and I knew that Edmund Voss had set it there on purpose, thin old fox that he was, and had arranged for his voice to be the one that asked it.
I also knew exactly what the first answer was.
It had lived under my ribs for as long as he had been dead, and it said *that my father was guilty*, and it was the one fear I had never allowed any person to hear, and I looked at Alexander's face in the last of the daylight and understood that I was not going to give it to him tonight.
"Take your time," he said.
"I am not taking time, I am choosing."
"Then choose."
I walked to the window, because it is easier to be honest with a view than with a person, and I stood with my back half turned and watched the long grey lawn run do
