Chapter 26
8.45 p.m.
Emmeline watched and waited, near the body but not too near; waiting for the final sign that he was dead. It had happened quicker than she’d read in Socrates’ account of it. She’d stood over him as nausea set in. Blood had bubbled up in his vomit and she’d wiped it away with his shirt. She wanted to see his mouth, his last breath. She wouldn’t make the same mistake twice. This time she intended to be sure he was dead.
His profanities, his attempts to attack her, had waned quite quickly and she’d stood by the flames in the fireplace, watching. His arms had ceased to move; gradually his head had stilled. His breath had sounded like the dregs of an emptying sink as his own chemical to preserve the shells of empty-souled animal skins suffocated the life from him. One co
