Chapter XLIIThe room was silent. Charles could hear nothing, see nothing. He strained, and heard only the horrid beat of his own pulses.
Margaret’s hands had fallen on the back of the chair by which she stood. It was a heavy mahogany chair with an old-fashioned horse-hair seat. Her hands closed on the smooth mahogany in the hard grip that felt nothing. The pillars of her house had fallen. She stood in the disaster and held blindly to the nearest thing that offered support. The shock was too great for crying out; it struck her dumb. She saw the pistol and the cruelty in Freddy’s eyes. She hoped he would shoot quickly. It was too horrible. She hoped he would shoot quickly.
He did not shoot. He balanced the pistol in his hand and laughed.
‘I’m glad you didn’t scream. Marvellous self-contro
